


RIPPLE EFFECT

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Imprinting (Twilight), Intuition, Movie: Breaking Dawn Part 1, Movie: Breaking Dawn Part 2, Nausea, Post-Breaking Dawn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vomiting, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25817779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21
Summary: Once I lift my gaze, the world around me shifts. Breaks away. Shatters.Oh. Oh woah.The boy in front of me is, in every sense of the word, stunningly boyish. Russet skin, short dark hair, and at least six feet tall. Whiskey brown eyes. Eyes that soften upon contact, hazy and glossy and wild.Then everything comes crashing down within nanoseconds, and I watch as he doubles over as if he’d been punched in the gut, letting out a thin wheeze.I rip myself out of Bella’s loose grip, feeling as if someone had injected liquid nitrogen into my veins – breaking the spell.At that moment, Seth drops to his knees.
Relationships: Bella Swan & Original Female Character(s), Jacob Black & Original Female Character(s), Seth Clearwater/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 134





	1. CHAPTER ONE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'll add more tags and edit as I go; I'm impatient, so I usually try to upload before double-checking everything) 
> 
> This fic will be updating slowly because if you know me from my writing, then you should know that I am a slow writer. Other than that, this is purely an imprinting fic with my boy Seth. In this story, both my OC and Seth himself are at the ages of 16, no younger. If you don't feel comfortable with that knowledge, then do not read. There won't be any actual R-rated scenes in this story, but there will be some instances where my OC and Seth will have shared intense moments of intimacy. Once again, if that's not what you like, then DO NOT READ. 
> 
> If some original characters seem to come off as OOC, then I apologize, I'm still trying to work on writing them correctly. I have this compulsive need to write original characters as how they're portrayed in their art, so have patience with me. 
> 
> Also, as a PSA, my OC has Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome. I know some people feel uncomfortable with reading about that stuff, so I just thought to warn you here. Most of the chapters will have moments where my OC will get sick. Proceed with caution.
> 
> I also just made a writing blog for the wolf pack, so if you'd like to send me some requests, my url is: strengthofthewolf

Bella’s getting married. 

When I first heard about the wedding, I’d been shocked. It had been years since I last saw her, and my father, and the fact that I’m seeing her on her wedding day is doing nothing to stow the nervous energy bubbling up in my chest. 

My mother keeps telling me to relax, but it’s all for naught considering I am just one big ball of anxiety. I don’t do well with big crowds; it’s how I’ve always been. Bella and I had been glued to the hip when we were younger, but as soon as she moved out to Forks to live with our father, my outlook on the world shrunk immensely. I didn’t go out, didn’t have many friends, my shier than shy personality prevented me from doing all those things that normal people my age do. I’m okay with it. 

Bella’s getting married and I have to wear a goddamn dress. 

If I didn’t adore my sister to the end of the earth, then I definitely would have changed into something less attention-grabbing. That, and switched out my flats for converse. 

Some self-conscious part of me wants to tighten the scarf around my neck until I feel myself choke. Just a little. 

“Grace, is that you?” 

I turn and freeze. There, wearing a fresh suit and tie, is my father, Charlie Swan. 

The last time I had seen my father had been close to three years ago. It was summer break and my mother had suggested that I spend some ‘quality time’ with him, but we barely muttered more than five words to each other the entire time I was there. I forced myself to hang out with other people, made new friends – anything to distance myself from him. We didn’t have much in common and we never really knew what to say to each other. After my parents’ divorce, we sort of drifted apart. 

Charlie, with a face full of deep, restrained adoration, scans me from head-to-toe. My stomach churns cruelly when his gaze finds mine; the subtle tick in his jaw, the glossy look in his eyes – it’s all too much. 

“Look atcha,” his voice is thick, filled with too much emotion. “All grown up.” 

I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth closed. For a moment, all we do is stand there, taking each other in, basking in the once familiar warmth. 

Blinking rapidly, my father tilts his head to the side. “Would you like to go see your sister?” 

As if he had to ask. Still, I give a curt nod and follow him up the staircase.

We pass a plethora of graduation caps enclosed behind a glass frame. Such an odd hobby, but then again, from what Bella’s told me about her new family, it isn’t all that shocking. 

“So, how’s school been?” 

I grab a fistful of my soft pink dress, praying I don’t trip and fall. What does he want me to say? School is school. I have no actual friends, I hate my teachers, and I’m failing geometry. 

At my lack of reply, my father’s focus drifts toward me, not necessarily unaccustomed to my silence. With an expression equivalent to that of a wounded puppy, he reaches out to help me the rest of the way up the stairs. 

Pushing aside my stubbornness, I accept his hand and let him guide me down the hall. At the end, the door is cracked open, and I can already hear my mother’s babbling. The anxiety I feel has me unintentionally gripping my father’s hand, using it as an anchor, and I try not to falter when his gaze drifts over to me. 

For the sake of my sister, I do my best to shove the anxiety away. 

My father walks in first as I linger behind him, bringing my hands behind my back out of shyness and habit. Luckily for me, all focus seems to be on the fact that my father is wearing a tuxedo, but the awe only lasts for a split second before all attention zeros in on me. 

Bella’s eyes widen imperceptibly at the sight of me, as if the sight of her younger sister wearing a dress is shocking enough. When we lock gazes, her face stretches out into a massive grin. 

As if she has to hold herself back from practically tackling me into a hug, she turns toward the women I have yet to meet. “Rosalie, Alice. This is Grace.” Her voice is filled with such an intense adoration that I find myself looking anywhere but at her, eyes focusing in on the other two women. 

The shortest one steps forward, big smile intact. “I’m Alice,” she says softly. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

I smile shyly, noting the way she has to hold herself back from any sort of contact. “It’s actually Kennedy,” I announce for the first time, hating the way my voice cracks, “But you can call me Grace. Grace is my middle name.” 

“Well, we’ve all been dying to meet you,” she gushes, good-natured. “It’s about time that happened.” 

My cheeks are an inferno. I turn my gaze over to the other, the quieter one, and find that she’s assessing me, eyes guarded. The nerves build, bubble up into my chest, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. Her lips give a barely visible twitch down at me before she nods once in acknowledgement. 

“Rosalie, but you can call me Rose.” 

Strangely enough, I’m thankful that she doesn’t hold out her hand. Neither had Alice. A fleeting suspicion tells me they’ve been informed of Bella’s poor kid sister who gets uncomfortable around physical contact. I appreciate it nonetheless.

“You’re wearing the dress,” Bella cuts in, voice just slightly above a whisper. My eyes flit over to her and I'm acutely aware of the little smile curving at her lips, half-hidden behind her hands as they curl disbelievingly at her mouth. She tries so hard to contain her excitement.

“Unfortunately,” I whisper back. It’s one of the softest pinks I ever laid eyes on; fitting, sleeveless, not too revealing. The dress itself is long, longer than me, cascading around me like a waterfall. 

With a roll of her eyes, she reaches for my hand and tugs once. Then pulls me into a bone-crushing hug that has the nerves in my chest and pounding in my heart diminishing into a gentle thrum. We practically melt into each other. 

“I miss you,” she says into the crook of my neck, voice muffled. 

My eyes fall shut, and I squeeze her once. “Me too.” 

“Alright, don’t mess up the masterpiece!” Alice chastises, but not unkindly. 

We pull apart, and not wanting to look her in the eyes, I reach for my mother’s hand, and they interlock together like magnets. 

* * *

“You must be Kennedy.” 

I almost jump at the friendly intrusion to my left. As if my spiking nerves aren’t bad already, they seem to skyrocket as I come face-to-face with another set of golden eyes. Immediately, my mind whispers a name: _Edward_. This is Bella’s soon to be husband. 

As if having recognized my recognition toward him, his smile widens, showing off a row of perfectly straightened teeth, and a more than dazzling grin. He holds out his hand in greeting fingers wiggling patiently. I stare down for a hesitant second, and cave, slipping my hand into his, and almost flinching at the alarming coldness of his skin.

“Just Grace, actually,” I murmur. 

“Grace,” he says kindly, as if committing the name to memory. “Well, Bella’s spoken quite highly of you.”

Our hands fall away, and so do my eyes in an attempt to seem casual. I want to say something, but I can’t, and I don’t want to seem rude for not speaking, but there’s only so much human interaction I can handle. My eyes dance over the crowd of unfamiliar faces, and my stomach drops at the thought of having to introduce myself to more people. 

“You don’t like big crowds?” 

I shake my head, still not looking at him, feeling his gaze intently on the side of my face. Mom had told me on the way here that there’d be a decent sized crowd, but the only word that comes to mind, as my eyes anxiously dart around, is _massive_. The nerves swirling inside my chest has me subconsciously scratching at my wrist. 

And then Edward says, “Me neither,” and I don’t feel so small anymore. 

* * *

The ceremony goes on for what feels like decades. 

After my more than awkward greeting with the groom, he had happily introduced me to the rest of his family. Carlisle – who I learned is a doctor of medicine – and then Emmett and Jasper, who are a conundrum in itself. Jasper, with his quiet, brooding nature, and Emmett, who is huge – and I do mean _massive_ – and the definition of cheeky. Esme, Edward’s mother, is an angel. An angel with her fragile little grin and calm-easy-open eyes. I found that I enjoy her presence the most. 

Moments ago, I’d lost sight of my mom, and after my internal panic attack, I took to sitting down, staring at the floor and scratching at my wrists. The inside of my mouth feels like cotton and my head feels like static, but not even the soothing sounds of the melody playing in the background can ease the clashing of nerves in my chest. 

“Grace!” 

My head snaps up instinctively at the sound of Bella’s voice. We lock eyes and she smiles widely, bounding over with Edward hot on her tail. The downright drunken grin on his face as she hauls him along is comical, but I keep quiet, standing just in time for her to collide right into me. 

I fight hard not to grimace at the excursion, and accept the embrace, but only for a second before pulling away. Her husband stands behind her like a guard-god, but assesses the situation with the softest of grins. And although Bella is practically glowing, her eyes are searching as they flicker across my face, making my nerves spike. 

She leans in, voice dropping slightly. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Not wanting to be the center of her concern – or anyone’s for that matter – I give a little nod and my brightest smile. “Don’t worry about me, Ella. This is your day.” 

“Ella?” This has Edward’s undivided attention, eyes falling down to his wife in what looks like warm amusement; however, instead of leveling me with her best stink eye, she preens at the sound of her nickname. 

“It’s better than Bunny.” 

Edward does a double-take, throat tight as if holding back laughter. “Wait – _Bunny_?” 

This time, it’s me who gives my older sister the stink eye. _Bunny_ is the nickname my mother so graciously gifted me with when I was young and naive and had a compulsively unshackled adoration towards bunnies. I still cringe at the sound of it. 

I make a mess of my words as I try to explain the meaning behind it, and by the time I’m finished, both bride and groom are about ready to burst. 

At Bella’s unforgivable laughter, I knock my fist against her arm; it’s gentle, but she still pulls back and holds it as if my knuckles are made of iron. Peals of soft-heartened laughter explode from deep within her chest, and it’s a nice sound – familiar, warm, homely. Belatedly, I realize I’d joined in, so I let the laughter dwindle out and avert my eyes. 

Bella observes me, looking fond, as if she’s trying to commit me to memory. Edward, too, only less ardently. My nails dig into the skin around my wrist, and I scratch until I feel a sting. 

“Hey, guys!” 

Startled, and suddenly overcome with anxiety, I can feel my body tense until I’m ramrod straight. The newlywed couple seem to recognize the new voice instantly, and before I have the chance to turn tail and bolt, Bella’s tugging me into her side. I’m still reeling from the sudden whiplash, palm over my temple and eyes screwed shut, when Bella begins introductions. 

Her eyes twinkle, outwardly pleased that she managed to grab ahold me before I could escape. “Grace, this is Seth.” 

Once I lift my gaze, the world around me shifts. Breaks away. _Shatters_. 

Oh. Oh _woah_. 

The boy in front of me is, in every sense of the word, stunningly boyish. Russet skin, short dark hair, and at least six feet tall. Whiskey brown eyes. Eyes that soften upon contact, hazy and glossy and wild. 

Then everything comes crashing down within _nanoseconds_ , and I watch as he doubles over as if he’d been punched in the gut, letting out a thin wheeze. 

I rip myself out of Bella’s loose grip, feeling as if someone had injected liquid nitrogen into my veins – breaking the spell. 

At that moment, Seth drops to his knees. 

There’s a rapid response as both Bella and Edward rush to his side, but I’m rooted to the ground, absolutely staggered, uncomprehending. 

The room spins. Ground sways beneath my feet. 

Confusion, fear, panic all slam into me at once. 

Eyes watching. Curious, anxious. Too many people. Out! Out! Out!

My instincts tell me to disappear. So what do I do? 

I run. 

I’m already halfway up the stairs when I hear the distress in Bella’s voice as she cries out for me.


	2. CHAPTER TWO.

The bathroom door practically rattles as I shove my way through, collapsing onto my knees near the toilet. 

I empty my stomach within seconds. 

With my head full of cotton and stuffed into the surprisingly clean bowl, I’m acutely aware of the door flying open and someone rushing in with a strangled, “ _Oh, god_.” 

The hand rubbing calming circles on the small of my back startles me enough only to flinch because of the sudden warmth there, but I don’t recoil even when instinct has me wanting to – I’m too busy puking up my guts to really process much of anything. Noises that make it sound as if I’d been dunked underwater, and a mild sense of vertigo has me breaking out in a cold sweat. 

With an ornery whine, I tug away the blindingly suffocating fabric around my throat. Off! Off! Off! It sags against my collarbones; my neck and jaw are open, exposed and vulnerable, but I don’t care. 

“Is she okay?” Edward’s voice sounds like gibberish to my barely functional brain. 

The next wave of nausea hits me and I find myself cramping up, sending the contents of my stomach splashing into the toilet. Gross. 

“Yeah, she’ll be fine.” A tutelar tone. “Can you go get my mom, please?” 

“Of course.” 

As soon as I hear the soft click of the door, I lift my head and swipe at the residual vomit lingering on my mouth. I moan feebly, because even the slowest of movement elicits another bout of nausea. I have to steady myself on the rim of the toilet until the room stops spinning. 

“I’m sorry,” I croak. 

“It’s okay,” Bella, a voice I can now recognize clearly, murmurs into my hair. “You’re okay. Just _breathe_ , Grace.” 

I obey. Inhale, exhale. In, out. “Go back with Edward.” I make an attempt to shove her away, but I’m not successful. Not wanting to back down, I let out a grouchy, “ _Go_.” 

My sister sighs heavily, bringing her arm around my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

In regression to this, I panic and lean over the bowl. My hands snake around it and I gag and heave and whimper. Then, Bella’s hand is back to those soothing touches, thumb delicately massaging my spine. I flush the toilet, no longer able to withstand the horrid stench of my vomit. 

The door creaks open and my mother, ever the worrywart, kneels down on the other side of me. I can’t see her face, nor do I particularly want to, but when she offers a glass of water and one little rectangular pill, I no longer have a choice. 

My mother always worries. Ever since the vomiting and the constant lethargy and the fainting spells, she made me her top priority. And it hadn’t just been her – Bella made it perfectly clear that she’d always be there for me whenever my days were bad enough to where I couldn’t even get out of bed. Most of the time, I feel coddled. 

“What are those?” My sister whispers, face morphing into deep concern. 

I take the pill and place it on my tongue, and with sluggish movements, I down most of the water in the cup. Mom grabs it and holds it in her lap before combing through my hair with her fingers, keeping my frizzy chestnut curls out of my face. 

“Phenadoz,” Mom says with a sigh, “The doctors say that it’s supposed to help with the nausea.” 

A look of incredulity shrouds her features and her mouth parts slightly. “They’re making her take _Promethazine_?” At the lack of reply from my mother, Bella rebuts with, “Has it gotten worse?” 

Displeased by where this conversation is going, I butt in snidely. “I’m _right here_ , you know.” Both women stop, eyes flickering over to me with a weary sadness in their eyes, and I hate it. “And I’m _fine_. You both keep fussing over me as if it’s some cancerous thing.” 

Their features twist into guilt. 

“Now, Bella, please go back and enjoy your wedding.” When she begins to protest, I hold up a hand. “Go now or I’ll bite you, and I have strong teeth, so I wouldn’t risk it.” 

Warm amusement filters through her gaze as she softens it down at me. “Fine, fine.” Palms flat on the tiled floor, she lifts herself up and, while picking up her dress, shuffles over to the door. Hand on the doorknob, she throws a lingering look of concern over at me, but I scowl in warning. 

“Isabella Marie, I _will_ do it.” 

A lopsided smirk. A placating, “Don’t doubt it, Gracie.” Then, with that, she departs, closing the door with a careful _click_. 

My mother garners my attention by tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, showcasing a devastating grin. “You ready to go back out there?” 

At my nod, she helps me up easily, one hand at my elbow and the other snaked around my waist. My knees shake like a baby fawn learning to walk for the first time, but her hold on me never wavers, not even when I lean subconsciously into her side. 

Through blurred vision, I let my mother guide me out of the bathroom and out toward the patio. The music is blaring, people are dancing, and only a few stop what they’re doing to glance in my direction. Amongst the crowd, I’m able to pick out a few familiar faces, while some new, and some old, the only ones that stand out clearly to me are Bella, Edward, Billy Black, and – Seth, if I remember correctly. 

The boy who I had been introduced to merely moments ago, sees me and stands to his full height. Pure instinct has me gripping onto my mother’s arm when I realize that it’s not just him that looks worried. I seem to have gained the undivided attention of half the people here. 

Mom steers me over to our table and I plop down as if I’d just been hit head-on with a semi-truck. After a beat, she asks me if I’m okay on my own, and I give her a nod, shooing her away and toward the fun. Pleased by this, she presses a quick kiss to my nose and sashays her way over to Phil. They share a brief conversation, no doubt to reassure him of my little incident, and he looks over with that same furrowed brow, puppy dog look – the same one my biological father and sister do whenever I get sick. 

And that, right there, is the reason I can never shake that feeling of being a burden. 

Not being able to handle the numerous pairs of eyes, I stare almost blankly down at my lap. The movement induces a mild throb at the base of my skull. My head feels like a ton, but I’m not surprised – dizziness is one of the side effects of the medication. I wish I could sleep it off. 

“Hey.” 

A sudden warmth encompasses me at the sound of the voice off to the side. I look up and am surprised to find Seth, the boy who had dropped to his knees at the sight of me. Only a moment ago, where he had been the definition of agonized, now vibrates with excitement. 

And he’s wearing one heck of a grin. 

My brows bump together. “Hi.” 

It’s strange to see someone look so utterly fascinated by another person. His eyes flicker over every possible inch of my face as if he can’t decide which part of me to focus on. Though, if I hadn’t been paying attention, I’d miss the way his eyes lingered on my jaw and neck. 

My fingers thread through the soft fabric and I give it a deliberate upwards tug, hand brushing against the ragged, inflamed skin there. If he happens to notice my movements, he doesn’t show it, and instead, levels me with a destructively beautiful grin. 

“You’re Grace,” Seth’s voice is breathless, and huskier than I remember. 

Every atom in my body ignites. It’s confusing. How can someone I barely know have such an effect on me?

“Yeah,” I offer lamely before adding in a much softer tone, “Are you feeling better?” 

It takes him a while to realize I’d asked him a question, eyes turning light and fond. He sinks into the chair next to mine, narrowly missing the intended target, but quickly righting himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Perfect, actually.” 

Relief swims through my veins, unwarranted, but it does a good job in calming me. I force myself to look away, but his eyes chase after mine with a gentle perception, as if he isn’t completely over the fact that I exist, like I’m some sort of celestial phenomena. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him shift closer to me. 

“What about you?” 

I drag my gaze over to him, not used to a stranger’s concern, especially not one with such a fierce protectiveness. 

My shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug before I can stop myself. “S’not my first rodeo.” 

His entire body seems to react to this; brows furled, shoulders drooping, eyes dimming. He looks sick, if only for a split second, and sighs as if he really doesn’t want to ask the question he’s about to ask. “Do you get sick a lot?” 

He sounds so sad and I find that I no longer want him to be, so I lie instead. “Not a lot, no.” At this, some of the glow in his eyes comes back and my chest swells. 

And then the quiet comes easily once more; the sounds of distant chatter, of laughter, and people are dancing. I scan the crowd, scoping out my family, eyes finding those of my kin. Swirls of hazel meeting brown. And hers are shining like goddamn fireworks, smile hidden behind her hands, cheeks straining in carefully contained excitement. Behind her, with his arms around her waist, Edward’s grin is just as infectious, just as canny, as he leans down to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he had told her has her eyes darting between Seth and I knowingly. 

I squint back at them, perpetually confused, until something blocks our connected path. 

“Hey, kiddo.” My dad’s already shrugging out of his coat, and placing it around my shoulders when he approaches my table, eyes darting rapidly between Seth and I. 

Said boy practically leaps up from his spot, and with a bob in his throat, eyes my father with the utmost respect. Charlie sinks down to his knees in front of me, watching me with that age-old concern in his eyes when he says, “Seth, sit down.” 

Down Seth goes again, obeying instantly. 

My father keeps a close eye on me. “How’re ya feelin’?” Although his tone comes off as casual, I can tell he’s anything but. Just like my mom, like Bella – Charlie worries, too. 

I’d find it endearing, if we weren’t surrounded by a bunch of people. 

“Fine.” My response is curt as I tuck myself into his coat. “Don’t worry.” 

He seems to come to realize that I would rather not have this conversation now – after a brief glance at the anxious boy to my side – and drops it entirely with a weary, but tolerant sigh. That’s his ‘sigh of defeat’ and I’ve heard it numerous times thus far, in all my sixteen years of life. Ever the dramatic, he is. 

“Okay, well–” he shifts in that covertly awkward way of his– “Do you need anything?” 

Beside me, Seth shifts in his seat, and I breathe out through my nose. “No, I’m okay.” 

A supernova of intense unease plows into me then, and that familiar icy dread stabs at my chest. My body had gone from lazy to ramrod straight within seconds. 

Coincidentally, that’s the exact moment I catch Bella and Edward slinking off towards the side of the house, arm-in-arm, fluttering smiles intact. They seem so happy, so carefree, but the steadily increasing unease I feel tells me a different story. 

Off to my left, Charlie murmurs something to Seth, but there’s no response, which tells me he either didn’t need one, or he had nodded his head. I don’t catch the exchange fast enough, but it’s when Seth shifts closer to me – closer than before – that I have the sneaking suspicion my father might have told him to keep an eye on me. For whatever reason he felt the need to.

Soon enough, after Charlie presses a quick kiss to my temple, he’s ambling off toward the crowd. 

Still unable to shake that weird sense of _Deja Vu_ , I slump defeatedly into the chair. 

“Do you like to dance?” 

I peek between the lapels of my father’s coat, catching the brief flicker of warmth in Seth’s rapidly searching gaze before clearing my throat. “Do you?” It isn’t a challenge, but the slight upward curve of his brows tells me he catches something in between the lines, something I’m not aware of. 

With a daffily charming grin, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “My idea of dancing wouldn’t be up to this generation’s standards.” 

This has my curiosity piqued, but like the stupidly quiet person that I am, I don’t act on it. 

“What about you?” he presses kindly. 

Suddenly feeling shy, I say, “I don’t – I mean...I can’t really dance. I’d just end up making a fool out of myself.” 

He hums a laugh, and it’s such a nice sound to my ears. 

“I think if you found the right partner, it wouldn’t be too bad,” his tone is suggestive, his expression is sunshine. I try to look away, but he follows, eyes big and bright with a fleeting sort of hope. 

My cheeks feel like a sauna. 

What can I say to that? It’s bad enough that just one look at him has me feeling the warm fuzzies all over again. 

He doesn’t seem bothered by my quiet nature. In fact, it’s like he’s embracing it, accepting it, as if there’s this strange need to do so. 

The legs of his chair shift along the floor, bringing my focus back over to him. He looks as if he’s about to say something again, and I hold my breath, because at this point it could be anything. But the words never come and I watch as Seth goes rigidly still in his seat. His head whips around and I’m surprised he hasn’t given himself whiplash from it. 

One of my brows tick upward. “Is something wrong?” I can’t help but ask, voice small, and I know I can barely be heard over the aimless chatter of the people and music around us, but he hears me anyway. 

The muscles in his face tighten, but the look in his eyes as they lock with mine is so inexplicably soft that it has the hair on my arms standing on end. “Everything’s fine,” he says, but then sort of just deflates as he adds, “but I have to take care of something.” 

Before I have the chance to wonder what the hell just happened, he’s already up and out of his chair, frantically walking toward the same way my sister and her husband disappeared to. 

Yet again, I’m hit with a feeling that something has gone wrong. 

I feel sick. 

“Kennedy Grace.” 

The sound of a gentle, but worn-out voice to my left has me jumping slightly in my seat. Familiarity paints my features, lighting them up for the man who watches me with a picturesque fondness. 

“Billy,” I say kindly. 

He tilts his head, a wistful gleam in his eyes, “It’s been far too long since your last visit.”

Billy Black. I’ve always adored him, always had this respect toward him that no other could replicate. The last time I’d been here, he had welcomed me into his home with open arms and the brightest smile to ever exist in his reality. He was like a second father to me, before Phil had the right to earn his place for step-father. During the Summer, I spent more of my time at the Black’s than my own home; it’s why Jacob and I were practically glued to the hip. 

“I suppose so.” My smile is reserved. “How’s Jacob?” 

The man I’ve come to know as a second father-figure doesn’t look as happy at the mention of his son. In fact, it’s as if he hasn’t gotten a good wink of sleep in months. He looks entirely drained, from head-to-toe. Regret brims to the surface, but Billy doesn’t take notice of my inner turmoil, and instead gives his best shot at a charming smile. 

“He’s gettin’ big,” he starts, “I’m sure he’d love to see you before you leave.” 

Oh. “Well, he’ll have me for a whole week, then I’ll be going back to Florida.” 

Billy frowns deeply at this, a bit surprised. “So soon?” 

“Yeah.” _Unfortunately_. “School’s starting back up in a week.” 

Billy goes to look at something over my shoulder with an anxious tick, and I tense. There’s that feeling again. I force myself to stand up instantly, and his eyes fly right back over to me, assessing me with taut features. There’s an intense concern radiating off of him in waves. 

Pulling the coat around me, I say, “I’m okay. Just need to use the bathroom.” 

It’s no secret that most of my father’s closest friends have heard about ‘the daughter that’s always sick’, ‘the _weird_ one’. Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Swan family; it’s bad enough that my father’s now chief of police – and privacy isn’t much of a keepsake in a small town such as Forks. 

I prepare myself to reassure Billy once more, but become appreciative when he doesn’t ask twice and shuffle onward. 

The feel of a far-off focus stings at my back, though I don’t falter. Once I reach the porch, I do a half-twirl, look over my shoulder, and once I’m certain nobody’s watching, make my way toward the back. 

And that’s the last thing I remember before my vision blurs. 


	3. CHAPTER THREE.

I puke for the second time that night. 

The nausea I had tried to keep at bay won. It had been a game of tug of war; every time I give a sharp pull, the nausea gives an even stronger one.

My body goes slack against the side of the house, away from the noise, away from the music, the talking, the sea of people. 

I couldn’t get far enough to find out where my sister and her husband wandered off to, nor Seth, because as soon as I was out of ear-shot, I doubled over, spilling my guts onto the dirty path below my feet. The medication rarely ever gives me a chance to breathe; the dizziness makes it hard to do much, but I guess I’m grateful for the fact that it doesn’t happen as much as it used to. 

When I was younger, it happened all the time – _it’s more common in children_ , my doctor had said. The lethargy, the constant nausea, the vomiting. Now, it rarely happens anymore, and when it does, it’s usually from stress or anxiety. 

With weak movements, I reach up and wipe at my mouth, shuddering as the vomit leaves an acidic aftertaste in the back of my throat. My head lolls against the wooden exterior, giving me a brief period of stillness. 

The sound of shoes moving through rocks and fallen leaves doesn’t register in my head, but it’s the delayed reaction to someone thrusting a water bottle in my face that does. 

“Here,” a feminine voice says tartly. 

Lifting my head, I’m surprised to find Rosalie, one of Edward’s sisters. Her face is a mask of stilted kindliness. I wince, suddenly feeling embarrassed for throwing up outside their home, but accept the bottle politely. 

“Thank you,” I croak. 

She gives me a single, brusque nod, but doesn’t maintain eye contact for long as she turns around crisply and starts toward the hose connected to the house. I down about half the bottle, hold it between a white-knuckled grip, and rush to help. 

“I can do that,” my voice raises in volume and pitch, “I made the mess, and I’d feel awful if I let you clean it up.” 

Rosalie pauses, hand on the knob of the hose. From the deep wrinkles on her forehead, it looks as if she’s in the middle of some internal war. The silence stretches on for what feels like forever, but then she stands, her movements almost mechanical, as she says, “It’s fine.” 

God, she’s terrifying. 

I back down and sulk off to the side. That lazier, lethargic side of me is jumping for joy, but there’s still that side of me that doesn’t want to be cleaned up after. A part that hates feeling useless, weak, tired all the damn time. 

Rosalie doesn’t look too bothered by it, but then again, she seems to wear a permanent mask of apathy, so really, it’s hard to tell what she’s feeling. 

When she finishes, and hooks the hose back on its station, I clamp up. I don’t know her all that well, and I already feel I’ve made my problem hers, which is what I wanted to avoid completely. 

I clutch the water bottle in my hands like it’s my lifeline. “Thank you, again, and I’m so sorry for making such a mess.” 

She stands awkwardly in front of me as if she can’t bear being anywhere near me, makes eye contact briefly, then nods her head. 

“Grace?” Like magic, Seth seems to materialize out of thin air, and is by my side instantly after breezing past Rosalie as if she was invisible. 

“Hey,” I frown, confused. “Is everything okay?” 

“I thought I smelt–” he falters then changes tack– “That doesn’t matter. Are _you_ okay?”

My brain lags to come up with an answer, thoughts spluttering like a worn-out engine, and I watch as Rosalie gives a sniff, almost like she’s peeved by his presence before turning tail and stomping away. 

“ _Grace_ ,” comes the nearly exasperated tone. 

Seth doesn’t touch me, doesn’t hover – and it’s like he’s afraid to – but I hear myself murmur something nonsensical in response regardless. Whatever I said must have satisfied him because the sigh that leaves him is possibly the single most loudest and most relieved I’ve ever heard. 

I’m starting to think he has tunnel vision.

“Everyone’s looking for you,” he says, and it’s barely a mumble. 

Oh, right. I figure they’re probably worried about me, but then scowl at the empty air as a bitter nuisance slithers through my veins. _Of course_ they’re worried. 

A hand at the small of my back has my gaze zip-lining straight over to Seth, only to find him already watching me, forehead crinkled in muted worry. He jerks his head to the right, a gentle coax, and I can feel the stress slowly ease from my shoulders. 

I blink dumbly up at him, and say the first thing that pops into my head, “Sorry.”

He stops, dropping his hand as if burned. “For what?” 

_Uh, not sure. My brain is fried, I think_. 

Seth howls in laughter, beautiful, tinkling, _infectious_ laughter, and it’s then that I realize I had said that out loud. Still, I can’t help but let my own hushed giggles bubble up my throat and, almost instantly, the starry-eyed boy beside me teeters to a stop, stares, and nearly loses his calm. 

He gulps, words spilling out in a single, awed rush. “I like your laugh.” 

“Oh.” I draw back, feeling trapped beneath his warm gaze. “Thank you.” 

The boy practically preens. 

“Seth.” 

The moment doesn’t last. 

At the sound of the voice, Seth grows defensive, stepping in front of me so I’m unable to see anything. His shoulders are too broad, too wide, and he’s too goddamn tall. Nonetheless, I make a face at his back and peer around him curiously. 

A man. Shirtless, tall, massive – much like Emmett – and wearing one of the most sternest expressions I’ve ever seen on somebody. Distantly, my mind whispers out a name: _Sam Uley_. A name that brings authority, power, and a face that demands you listen. 

I fidget in my spot, the knotwork in my stomach twisting. The movement is enough to garner his attention, if only briefly. 

His eyes soften, coupled with a nod of acknowledgment. “Grace.” 

“Hey, Sam,” I murmur, surprised that he remembers me. The _Res_ is a place I used to visit a lot, and since Jacob had been the glitter to my glue, I was proudly acquainted with the people he shared his time with. Sam being one of them. 

Sam’s eyes drag back over to Seth and, like a light being switched, his demeanor changes instantly. “Let’s go,” his voice is almost a growl. 

In the corner of my eye, Seth looks from me to Sam, eyes wide and imploring. “Just a little longer, man, please.” 

Sam stares pointedly, but there’s a look of obvious contemplation on his face as they stare one another down. Finally, he sighs and uncrosses his arms. “Five minutes,” he concedes. 

Like an obedient puppy, Seth gives an outright overeager nod, happily content. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so adamant to be near me as much as he wants to, and I shouldn’t feel this buoyant, this _flattered_ , but I am. 

We watch as Sam turns around and slinks off into the shadows beyond the woods, the atmosphere gradually returning to its previous douceur, although the confusion lingers in me like the aftertaste of whiskey. 

Seth turns toward me, puppy-smile untouched. I have the strangest feeling he’s trying to do anything and everything to prolong his time with me. 

“So,” he starts. “You know Sam?” 

Thankful for the icebreaker, I _mhm_ , then I realize we have yet to move back to the party and try to remember how to use my feet. Seth bounds after me like a Golden Retriever and, every once in a while, will watch me out of the corner of his eye. 

“How did you meet him?” 

We round the corner.

“Jacob introduced me, once upon a time.” My eyes immediately lock onto Bella’s, interpret the look in her eyes as relief, then glance at the boy beside me who hangs onto every word. “I mainly hung out with him, Embry and Quil whenever I would visit during the Summer.” 

Looking hesitant, he asks, “How long are you staying this time?” 

“Just a week,” I answer with a shrug. 

He looks nearly discouraged with drooped shoulders, and pinched, crestfallen features. “Oh.” 

I open my mouth to – I don’t know what, but the tiny voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me to _make it stop, make it stop, make it stop_. 

A howl pierces the air. 

My heart jumps a little, and only a little, but Seth’s forehead still puckers, adding into the almost permanent puppy dog look. 

I didn’t think there’d be wolves this close to the edge.

“There you are!” 

Both our heads swivel to the side as my trigger happy mother flounders into view, looking, for all intents and purposes, drunk. Once she’s close enough, she drapes her arm over my shoulder and presses a sloppy kiss to my temple before I have the chance to shove her off. 

_Mom_ , _that’s so_ **_embarrassing_**. 

“Oh!” Finally noticing my company, she straightens up and offers out her hand. “You must be Seth.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Seth smiles big and happy, hand clasping my mother’s smaller one. 

My mother has the _gall_ to roll her eyes. “Please, call me Renee.” 

If possible, Seth’s smile seems to grow. 

“Well, I’m glad Bunny’s making friends,” my mother drolls out, leaning the side of her face on my head. 

I have half a second to realize she casually blurted out that cringe-worthy nickname before Seth’s eyes snap over to me, shit-eating grin plastered in place. “Bunny?” 

_My word_. 

Renee takes this all in stride like a proud mama duck. “Yup,” you can hear the hilarity in her voice, “She’s my Bunny.” 

My exasperation comes out in a whiny, “ _Mom_.” 

“Oh, come on! It’s a cute nickname.” 

“It so is _not_.” 

“It is, too!” 

Seth’s watching the two of us bicker, eyes darting back and forth rapidly, eyes twinkling. And then he laughs that soul-shatteringly adorable laugh and my knees wobble. 

At the comfortable silence that follows, he shuffles on his feet like a hesitant toddler with his focus now fully-intent-steady on me. 

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you around?” 

Not trusting myself to use my voice, I nod shyly, and watch awestruck as he turns to bid my mother a sweet, teeth-rotting farewell. Ever the gallant he is, I realize when my mother gives him her best angelic smile in turn. 

Then he turns to me, again, as if he’s savoring something in the spaces between. I’m almost blinded by the sunshine in his eyes. 

My mouth falls open to say something – anything – but the words are stuck in my throat, and I’m scared I might make a mess of my words again. 

Seemingly content with my lack of verbal communication, he turns around and slips away into woods, and I watch him go with a longing I never knew I could feel toward another human being. 

My mother turns to me, then, all knowing smiles and a placating tone, “He seems nice.” _Nice doesn’t even begin to describe him_. “You know, you have all week to hang out with him,” she presses, now giddy. “And Jacob.” 

_All week_ , my thoughts parrot back like a dozen throwing darts aimed at my skull. _I’m so screwed. So very, very screwed_.


	4. CHAPTER FOUR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five will be longer than the ones I've been giving out because I don't know how to not write with too much description apparently.

_“Take care of my sister, Edward.”_

_A safe-guard smile. “I will."_

_“I mean it,” I told him, feeling urgent. “That’s my best friend you just stole from me.”_

The pillow beneath my head is too hot. I flip it over and plop right back down, trying to call back that sliver of sleep. 

_“Grace, you have my word.”_

Sunshine leaks out behind beige curtains, streaming and filtering into my bedroom, but that’s not the reason why sleep won’t come. 

Last night, I had watched Bella and Edward leave with a weighted heart. Even as Charlie sidled up beside me, draped an arm around my shoulder and tucked me into his side, the feeling of that bone-aching homesickness occupied every inch of me, imprisoning me. 

_“I’ll miss you,” Bella whispered into the crook of my neck._

The words, _I’ll miss you most_ , lingered on my tongue like minty mouthwash. I hugged her fiercely still. Then she walked away. 

A knock on my bedroom door startles me out of my reverie.

“Grace? You awake?” That’s my dad, doing his morning check up. 

My eyes drag over to the clock on my nightstand; my first instinct. It’s early. Phil and mom should be catching their flight back to Florida right about now. 

“Yeah,” I rasp, clearing my sandpaper throat. “‘m awake.” 

A pause. Then, “Are you hungry?” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

“Alright, well, I’m heading out for my shift in twenty.” There’s a rustle on the other side of the door like he’s leaning up against it. “Are you gonna be okay by yourself?” 

Will I? Maybe I can sleep some more, get a few more hours in. Then, maybe I won’t have to feel so tired. 

Instead of answering him immediately, I untangle myself from my sheet, swing my legs over the side of the bed and open the door. 

Charlie reels in place briefly then steadies himself, looking a disheveled mess. He’s in his uniform, the one I haven’t seen him wear in quite some time. 

“I’ll be fine,” I say, and maneuver my way around him. The socks on my feet drag across the carpeted floor and, soon after, I can hear the hesitant scuffling of my father trailing after me. 

When I reach the kitchen, I head straight for the coffee pot, and pour myself a mug. My father lingers off by the entryway, but his shock is palpable. 

“Since when do you drink coffee?” 

“Started last year,” I answer, lazily lifting my arm in a shrug. After having added two spoonfuls of sugar and some milk, I walk over to the table and sit down, keeping my hands wrapped around the warmth, bringing the rim up to my lips. “What time do you get off work?” 

“Late,” he says. “Maybe we can go to the diner for lunch.”

My brows dip, and I distractedly watch the bellowing steam take form in a translucent cloud. “I can just bring you something at the station.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Grace.” 

I shrug again, because that seems to be the only thing I have for him these days. “It’ll give me a reason to get out of the house.” 

Silence chases my reply, and I don’t have to look up at him to see that he’s ready to protest. When it doesn’t come, my eyes lift and meet his gaze, only to startle at the warm fatherly fondness oozing from him. 

“What?” 

He shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Nothing,” he says. “Just missed you being around, is all.” 

I soften my eyes up at him. “Yeah. Me too.” 

* * *

The sound of my feet thumping on the ground rings out through the dense woods around me. As soon as Charlie left, my only goal had been to finish my coffee and slip into my new morning routine. Despite the coolness in temperature, the slight warmth from the sunrays as it peeks out from a plethora of grey clouds, it doesn’t bother me. Besides, I run to clear my head. 

I remember picking up the hobby in Florida, and my mother and Phil being worried about the impact it would have on me if I went overboard with it. Too much excursion tends to mess with the nausea. However irritated I had become by their constant hovering, they were right. Two days after, I had an accident, ending up with a twisted ankle – they had me on bedrest for a full week. 

Feeling a familiar lightheadedness wash over me, I force my feet to come to a stop. My lungs expand and release, full of wonderful oxygen, and I hunch over, planting my palms over my knees to _breathe_. 

There’s already a build up of sweat at my temples, on my chest, under my arms. With a half-focused glance down at my watch, I realize I’d been running for about thirty minutes. 

“ _C’mon_ , Grace.” My breaths come out in broken pants. The nausea coils in the pit of my stomach and I clench my teeth. “Easy.” 

Something snaps loudly in the small copse of trees surrounding me, and I bolt upright, body going from hunched to ramrod straight within seconds.

I hold my breath and study the spaces in between the trees. There could be some kind of animal nearby – like a bear – just waiting to eat me alive, and here I am, standing here, not running.

That’s when I _feel_ it. 

Someone, or _something_ , is watching me. 

There, lurking in the far-off spaces of the woods, prowls a wolf. Russet brown fur with dark eyes, nearly black, and at least ten feet tall. 

I don’t move. Can’t. Struck by fear. 

The wolf steps closer, and my chin trembles. With a noise of distress, the wolf freezes and flattens its ears submissively. 

I backpedal, and the wolf perks back up. 

Time slows.

And then I run. 

Everything passes me in a blur of images as I force my legs to go faster, feeling my chest constrict with an increasing, paralyzing panic. 

Behind me, the wolf howls. A heart-aching, bone-chilling noise that causes me to lose my balance, sending me crashing to the ground. I yelp as tiny, ragged rocks dig into my knees and palms. But the fear-driven-by adrenaline overrules any and all agony, and I heave myself back up. 

I reach home in what feels like hours of seconds, and practically wrench the door open in my haste. My legs wobble, tottering to the safety of the bathroom where my vomit chutes into the toilet, leaving behind a nasty, acidic aftertaste in my mouth. 

After wiping my mouth with a cold wash cloth, I mosey into the kitchen, set on cleaning the dried blood off my knees. 

The sound of a gentled hesitant knock at the door interrupts my desire to do so. 

With furrowed brows, I limp over, stand on my tiptoes and glance curiously through the peephole. I catch a mop of brown hair briefly before my attention is drawn to the sight of whiskey-colored eyes. 

I glance in the mirror next to the door and frown at my disheveled appearance. The rat’s nest that is my hair, chestnut strands falling out of my ponytail, sweat at my temples, eyes big and bruised. God, I look terrible. 

After quickly fixing my hair and brushing off the dirt on my baggy t-shirt, I summon courage to open the door and peer out curiously. This, in turn, causes him to perk up at the sight of me. 

“Hi,” he all but breathes out, then swallows once before that familiar, happy grin strains against his cheeks. 

I blink several times then croak out a quiet, “ _Hey_ ,” and stand there as Seth’s unblinking gaze settles on the lower half of my face. I have a fraction of a second to note the drop in his expression before some long-forgotten instinct kicks in, and force my head to tilt down, hiding what I can of my scar.

Not wanting to be rude, I crack open the door a bit further, eyes glued to the frame instead of his eyes. “Would you like to come in?” 

“Yeah,” he says after a while, and I can’t help but notice that he sounds sad. 

There’s a pang in my chest as I watch him cross the threshold, but it’s lingering, and I don’t have the chance to put a name to the feeling when something like a cold, steel trap cuts it right off. The unseeing force sends a shudder right through me, and I cut it off by digging my fingernails into the skin near my wrist. When I pull back, there’s a mark. 

Seth is in the midst of gazing about the living room when I catch the subtle shift in demeanor, head whipping around wildly to face me in what I can only describe as an ‘alert-dog’ sort of rigidness. I’m about to open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong when his eyes fall on my knees, where the scrapes poke out from the ripped fabric of my leggings. 

He blanches, looking queasy. “You’re hurt.” 

The scrapes on my knees sting, making me wince, and I try to be subtle about it, but Seth’s gaze chases after mine like a lost puppy. 

“What happened?” He orders gently, watching me with a severe expression. 

“I went on a run.” My voice shakes as I remember the wolf in the woods. “Then I fell.” 

Like gravity, Seth trails after me when I start to make my way into the kitchen. I go to snatch up a paper towel to clean it up, but fall short as a hand, much larger than my own, grabs it before I can. My eyes snap over to him, stunned, thoughts sputtering to catch up as he stares at me beseechingly. 

“Let me help,” his voice is soft, persuading. 

I feel butterflies in my tummy. “You don’t have to–” 

“I want to,” he rushes out, then sighs upon seeing the confusion on my face, and comes back with a whispered, “Please?”

“Okay,” I say, because really, at this point, I have no idea what else to do. Seth seems adamant enough to appease me in every which way he is damn near capable of, and even though it’s confusing me, a part of me doesn’t want to overthink it. So I leave it be, and let the boy with the soft-lidded eyes drag me over to the living room couch as if he’s navigated this space a million times before. 

Seth’s fingers are hot against the skin of my calves as he brings my legs into his lap. He works deliberately to keep as much pressure off of my knees as possible, with movements so gentle, so careful and calculated to where there’s no chance of hurting me. 

His hands hover over the torn fabric of my leggings like he doesn’t know where to place them. The thought of him being hesitant around me due to unexplained boundaries is touching, but I reach over and pull them up for him before leaning back. 

I glance up at him just in time to catch his eyes instantly darting away from me. 

Between the visible bob in his throat, and the not-so-subtle flush beneath his russet skin, a certain warmth imbues my cheeks when I realize that he had been staring at me. Now, his glance lingers on the scrapes, and they’re merely tiny marks along my knee, but I’m dumbfounded by the way he reacts as if they’re massive. 

Hydrogen peroxide stings like a bitch. Every so often, Seth will go over a certain area of one of the scrapes and I’ll wince. And Seth, he looks just a little too panicked when he whispers a quiet apology – intentionally make sure not to corrupt the same spot a second time. 

“So,” I start, my voice a soft spur cutting through the silence. “Was there a reason for the sudden drop-by?” 

Seth plants a butterfly stitch on my right kneecap, but despite the deep concentration, he doesn’t answer me until he’s certain the adhesive is protecting most of the scrapes. Before moving onto my left knee, he looks over at me, suddenly shy, but features crinkling in restrained happiness. 

“Yeah, actually.” He reaches for another butterfly stitch, and I can’t help but marvel at how small the bandage looks pinched between his thumb and index finger. “We’re having a bonfire tonight, and–” his hand shakes as he goes to place it on the other scrapes, but he steadies it with an intake of breath before releasing it– “I was wondering if you’d like to come?” 

The look he gives me, like my answer will either make or break him into a gazillion pieces, has me slightly on edge. A bundle of nervous energy, all colliding, mashing together uncomfortably as they bubble up in my chest. A bonfire? With people? It sounds terrifying. 

Seth must have seen the way my face had fallen just a smidgen, because he pauses midway to look up at me through a curtain of thick lashes, eyes darting back and forth between mine with an intense worry. Then, he rushes to add, “Charlie can come, too. I mean, if it’s too much.” 

A small, closed smile dances over my lips. “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah,” he sounds winded, “If that’s what you want, it’s more than okay.” 

I nod once before bringing my focus down to my knees. “Cool.” 

“So, you’ll come?” The way he speaks, so full of arrant hope, a kick-start to the full on thundering in my chest. When I give him a soft rumbled hum in agreement, the sunshine under his skin starts to glow brighter and he gives me a wheedling sigh. “Awesome.” 

* * *

As promised, I made Charlie lunch. 

Stepping into the police station leaves me whirling in a whole new level of homesickness I never knew I had for this place. But the officers, familiar and kind and open, greet me with enthusiasm, welcoming me inside and guiding over to my father. 

The golden nameplate residing on the door to his office reads: _Swan. C._ in big, bold letters, and right beneath it, _Chief of Police_. It looks worn, like someone took a key and scratched it up, but that doesn’t stop the swell of pride I feel in my chest for him. 

With no hesitation, I knock once. “Dad?” 

Don’t let it be said that Charlie Swan has no sense of chivalry. Within seconds, my father is standing at the threshold, giving me his trademark grin of exhaustion. We don’t say much as he ushers me inside, closing the door behind him out of habit, but moreso for family privacy. 

He turns to me then, eyeing me with that squinty-eyed look of his. “Did you walk here?” 

My arm lifts in a half-hearted shrug, the thick-knitted turtleneck I’d slipped into prior to my walk brushing against the skin on my shoulder. This does little to belay the deep-seated concern wafting from him and instead, levels me with a look akin to exasperation as one can muster while being worn down from constant work. 

“Grace, you should have asked for a ride.” 

“I didn’t need one,” I reply breezily. Not wanting to continue the conversation, I offer him the brown paper bag and mosey over to plop my butt down on one of his chairs, thankful for the elevation and lack of pressure on my calves. They’re _burning_. 

“It’s not safe for you to be walking around on your own,” he comes back stubbornly, “and you don’t even have a phone, so there’s no way for me to contact you when you’re not near me.” 

Charlie Swan is one big worry-wart. 

The sigh that leaves me is thin, delicate as I try to lessen the chances of my nausea seeping through. “I don’t need a phone,” I say. “My last one broke, and mom tried to buy me another one, but I told her it was redundant.” 

He leans back on his desk, tongue in cheek, arms crossed over his chest in that way that reminds me of his high position here. “Redundant?” An eyebrow ticks upwards. 

“ _Yes_ ,” I say, stressing the word as if speaking to an illiterate. “I don’t need one.” 

The silence stretches far and wide before he erupts with, “Alright, I’m buying you a new phone.” And I open my mouth to protest, desperation clear in my expression, although weary, when he holds up his hand to stop me. “It’ll give your old man some peace of mind.” 

I slump in my chair, knowing there’s no way for me to argue with that. 

Charlie’s expression softens infinitesimally. “Sorry, kiddo.” 

“I just…” He perks up at this, and I continue, suddenly struck with an averse dependency, “I don’t want you to feel like it’s an obligation to give me things when I have nothing to give back.” 

Something like genuine confusion flickers across his face. “Who says it’s an obligation?” 

If I continue, there’s a great chance that I’m going to mess up my words again, because arguing with Charlie tends to do that. We always used to butt heads. Directly after the divorce is when it had been the worst of it, but I learned – am _still_ learning – to get it right, to try and understand his side of the story, and his concerns, and his need to protect his family. Sometimes it can get difficult. We get messy, we say things we don’t mean spurred on by troubled thoughts or insecurities, and then we regret them. It used to be simpler, for the both of us. 

My father frowns when I shake my head. “It’s not,” I whisper, but then quickly tack on, “There’s a bonfire at Emily Young’s tonight.” 

Reeling from the more than dizzying change of subject, my father levels me with an almost indecipherable expression then very dramatically holds in a breath before releasing it. His face is aimed toward the ceiling, arms still tightly wound over his chest. “Bonfire,” he says with an air of indifference, trying to come off as casual. 

“Yeah,” I press on, anxiously wringing my hands together in my lap. “Seth stopped by earlier and thought it would be cool to invite me – us, I mean.” 

At this, he looks down at me, lips twitching. “You want me to go?” 

_God, this is so awkward_. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed to admit that I need someone to hold my hand when it comes to social gatherings. Especially now, when I know that Seth will undoubtedly be there to turn me into a pile of goo like he had last time. 

Cheeks now an ugly shade of red, I clear my throat, words botched as I say, “Well, Seth said it was okay.” 

I remember the smile Seth had on his face when he insisted on cleaning up the mess of bandages and cloth and peroxide himself. It left me stumped because all I could do was sit there while he weaved his way around me, more than pleased with this outcome and my willingness to let him clean up my mess without reward. The smile on his face lasted for a full five minutes, that I worried his cheeks would end up stuck that way. He backpedaled out the front door, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his faded blue jeans, transfixed on _me_. I remember the warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest as he stumbled and almost tripped over his feet because he hadn’t once taken his eyes off me. 

Seth Clearwater makes my heart dizzy. 

The sound of Charlie’s defeated grunt pulls me back, taking that baby hope in my chest and expanding it fully. I prepare myself to throw out bait, eager for him to take it. 

“Billy will be there,” I say. And he watches me keenly, with a look that says _I-know-what-you’re-doing_ because I never use this tactic on just anyone. He caves shortly thereafter. 

“What time?” 

I smile big and wide. “Eight o’clock.” 


	5. CHAPTER FIVE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and reads! I’m so glad you’re enjoying it so far. If you have any constructive criticism, please know that I will look it over (while sobbing) and try to fix anything that needs to be fixed. I may overlook some things while editing, but that’s only because I have like some ADHD, and it’s really hard for me to focus on just one thing at a time. Please, continue to leave reviews, they really, really give me motivation to keep writing, and I’d hate to drop this story. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask them. 

Charlie has one of the officers drive me back home, ignoring my reassurances that I am fully capable of walking back home on my own. Officer Brickston, he introduces himself as. He’s almost unnaturally tall with callow blue eyes, a crooked grin, short cropped raven black hair, and someone who absolutely _idolizes_ my father. 

I ask him why it’s dangerous for me to walk home on my own, and I’m disturbed to hear that there’s been a hefty amount of animal attacks for the past year and a half. No wonder Charlie had been so against the idea of me walking the streets by myself. After this morning’s incident, I won’t be doing much of that for a while. 

Officer Brickston opens the passenger side door for me after we pull up to the driveway. He tells me to be careful with an authoritativeness that reminds me of my father, then bids me a farewell before driving off. 

People in Forks seem to take these animal attacks very seriously which leads me to believe that there’s more to it than what I’ve been told. 

That thought lingers in the back of my head as I head for the porch. But the quick snap of twigs near the woods has them dwindling like burning embers. 

I whip my head around and take in the slight swaying of trees, searching for any sign of – _anything_. The air in my lungs stall and catch upon witnessing a pair of whiskey-copper eyes staring directly at me from beneath a delve of branches. 

This wolf is not the same wolf I encountered this morning. 

Then, like a switch, I race for the door, head spinning, stomach lurching. The keys jingle in my hands that shake like leaves, but a noise of distress has me faltering. 

I stop, lean back, and peer around into the woods once more. 

Confusion roots my features as the wolf, having stopped right where land meets forest, stands there and watches me. Non-threatening in its tall and gangly form, brown, sandy fur, and oversized paws. Admittedly, this wolf is smaller than the one from earlier. It reminds me of a newborn fawn finding its legs for the very first time after taking one careful step forward. 

My arms fall down to my sides as I openly gawk at this massive creature. With a whine, too far away for me to hear perfectly, though loud enough, the wolf lays down on its belly and lowers its head onto its paws. This happens right at the same time I feel a subtle, but unwarranted wave of contentment sink deep into my bones. 

Weird. Very, very, _extremely_ weird. 

The wolf watches me almost curiously for a solid three minutes. _Three minutes_. I know because I counted. Then it lifts its massive frame up as if testing the waters and, without taking its gaze off mine, takes one step closer. 

I stagger back, and the wolf halts, letting out a desolate whine at my uncertainty. 

Wary of its sudden attachment, I put on a brave front and shoo it away with a sweep of my hand. But it doesn’t move, only continues to tilt its head and watch me as if _I’m_ being difficult. 

At the wolf’s defiance, I try again, voice an aggressive whisper, “Get!” 

I must look stupid, standing on my porch, trying to get what looks like a giant dog off my lawn by swatting at the air as one would go about swatting at a fly. 

This wolf is stone-still.

I make an inarticulate noise of frustration and cross my arms over my chest. “Fine. Stay there. I don’t care.” 

However, as I whirl around and make for the door, the wolf gives a little ‘ _awoo_ ’ at my back, stopping me in my tracks. It’s _messing_ with me. And when I turn around again, I note that it has gotten closer to the house, now sitting back on its large hindlegs, ears perked up. 

Our eyes lock. Mine, squinted and dubious, and the wolf’s, wide and imploring. 

“What?” I ask, slightly miffed. Wasting time. Being stupid. 

Seemingly unbothered by my aggravation, it sweeps its tail across the grass, across the autumn leaves, looking like it’s about to piss itself from excitement. Then it _wuff’s_ and flops its tongue over the side of its jaw, reminding me of a puppy.

My resolve weakens the slightest. “You gotta go, bub.” The wolf’s ears twitch in a way that tells me it’s listening, but makes no further indication of moving. “Go on,” I goad with lightness, jutting my chin out toward the woods. 

It yaps adorably at the fat grin pulling at my cheeks, and circles around in its spot once before resuming its previous position. Unrestrained laughter bubbles out of me because of this, but I try to muffle it behind the sleeve of my sweater. 

I anticipate the wolf to go all gloom and doom like it had previously when I told it to leave, but instead, it trots back to the edge of the woods and glances back at me one last time. My hand lifts in a lazy wave without me meaning for it to, and this is all the creature needs before it takes off at a breakneck speed, leaving behind an echo of its happiest howl. 

[...]

It’s when we finally pull into Emily Young’s driveway when my nerves start to suffocate me. Charlie notices this and, after cutting the ignition, he turns to me with that faux pas casualness I’ve always envied. 

“You okay?” 

With a nod, I pull my sleeves down, balling the hems in my fists to cover my hands. It’s a reminder for me to not scratch at my wrists, a temporary solution for an unbreakable habit. 

Realizing I have yet to give Charlie a verbal reply, I say, “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

Charlie doesn’t look convinced, but he drops the conversation with a single, sure-footed nod. 

My hand shakes around the handle of the door, rattling the metal with an obviousness that I’m sure my father caught onto. I don’t give him the chance to say anything else, though, and flee the car in such a hurry that has me almost tripping and planting face first into the dirt. 

Me and my two left feet barely make it five paces until I hear the unmistakable sound of a door being almost torn off its hinges. 

“Grace!” 

I faintly register the outcry of my name before _something_ barrels into me and lifts me about three feet off the ground. At the sudden shift in momentum, I squawk in surprise, and immediately cling to my captor like a koala bear. 

A face pokes out from where it had been smushed into my chest, and beams that goofy grin up at me. “Hey,” there’s something unabraded in his voice, something raw, and it’s strange to see so many emotions dance across his slightly more _mature_ features. His hair, that had once been down to his shoulders, now sits in unruly tufts on top of his head – the kind of hair you’d want to run your fingers through given the chance. And his face, softer, wiser, with a jawline that could cut through my skin, clenched in that way that makes me believe he’s trying to hold back too many emotions. 

Regardless, I try to make myself sound threatening, even going as far as giving him _The Look_. “Embry Call, you put me down right this instant.” 

Sounds of muffled laughter echo from somewhere off to my left – maybe a little to my right – but my embarrassment keeps me from searching for the nameless spectator, and I watch as Embry’s goofy grin turns into a goofy smirk. 

“I dunno,” his voice practically a hum as he fakes a look of contemplation. “What do you think, Quil?” On demand, another all too familiar face pops up just over his shoulder. “Should we do as the lady says?” 

Quil Ateara gives me his infamous smarmy grin, and I swear I can see all thirty-two of his teeth. “Nah,” he says, voice tight with an underlying joy. “Let her squirm.”

“You’re rude,” I state, matter-of-factly, making Quil howl with laughter. The noise brings back a swell of deep-rooted affection, but instead of slipping into that softer side that they, no doubt, bring out of me, I try to wriggle out of Embry’s hold. I immediately regret this as a wave of nausea washes over me and, with a grunt, force myself to go limp and dangle over the upper half of his body like a slab of meat. 

“Fine,” I say, and turn my face away with a petulance that puts a toddler’s to shame. “No hugs for either of you.” 

“Technically, this is a hug.” The look on Embry’s face is ridiculous. “You’re hugging me right now.” 

“Am not,” I huff. “Let me go.” 

“What’s the magic word?” Quil snarks, gentled by his amusement, and with a look that sits well on his ruggedly handsome features. 

“The magic word is: fuck you.” 

“ _Grace_ ,” comes the nearly exasperated tone of my father. 

Embry looks unbothered, my spitfire attitude only egging him on. “That’s two words.” 

“Embry, I will punch you in the–” 

“Grace!” 

“–choad.” 

Another round of laughter rings out, and it’s not either of the boys picking on me. It’s hushed and strained, like someone’s trying really hard to keep it all in.

“ _Choad_?” Embry wheezes out, arms shaking with the weight of his laughter while also trying to keep me in place. My cheeks explode in color and I feel my face scrunch up like someone had forced me to eat an entire lemon. 

“I’m hearing it in my head,” I gripe, disappointed in myself. “Now, let me down. I feel dizzy.” 

Like I knew they would, my words have the desired effect and Embry, with a gentleness I’m not yet used to, sets me back down on my feet. The nausea settles only briefly in the pit of my stomach, but I give it a moment, willing it away to the best of my ability. 

“Do we get hugs now?” Quil asks sweetly, perching his chin on Embry’s shoulder, looking down at me with that stupid look on his face. 

I let out a breathy laugh, and spread my arms wide open. The boys practically fling themselves at me, caging me between the both of them with relative ease. On my left is Embry, and on my right, Quil. A mixture of pinewood and ocean rain, and Embry’s familiar aftershave fills my nostrils. 

“You guys got huge,” I say, my voice light and jesting. They pull back at the same time, but not before Embry presses a quick kiss to my cheek. He has always been the more affectionate between the two – Quil’s more cheeky in that aspect, but his curls still give him that boyish charm I adore so much. 

“I know right.” At this, Quil flexes his bicep in an attempt to show off. “Wanna feel?” 

I reach over and poke the jutting muscle with caution, and quickly pull back in surprise. “It’s like you’re made of vibranium, Quil, _Jesus_.” 

He simpers at that. Embry huffs, probably offended by the fact that I hadn’t felt _his_ bicep.

“Boys, are you pestering my guest?” 

In unison, the two massive boys in front of me look over their shoulders, and I curiously peer around them. I’m surprised to find not one, but a handful of faces – new, and familiar – all standing around, watching the scene with varying degrees of prying interest. Amongst the small group, I scope out one in particular that has the butterflies in my tummy doing backflips. 

Seth’s eyes are intent on my own, watching, waiting eagerly for something. Not knowing what that something _is_ , I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers, hoping it’s enough. The poor boy looks about ready to faint when an incredibly shy grin stretches along my lips. 

“We don’t pester,” Quil declares with a tone of finality. “We aren’t pests.” 

My gaze drifts over to Quil, and I can’t help the tiny snort of amusement. I hold out two fingers, and tick off each statement, “You do, and yes you are.” 

Both boys puff up at this, but Embry’s the one that takes the bait. 

“But you don’t think _I_ am, do you?” He has that ridiculous pout on his face. 

Now it’s my turn to smirk, and Embry catches this with intense focus. “Especially you.” 

There’s a round of snickers, and I almost want to preen at my more than amused audience, but that timidness comes raring back tenfold. Right when the nerves start to get bad, and I think the world is going to cave in on me, a voice rings out amongst my inner chaos. 

“Grace, would you like to come inside?” 

My eyes dart over, hoping to attach a face to the voice from earlier, and I’m greeted back with an openly warm gaze. Like most, I notice the three thin jagged scars that take up the majority on the right side of her face. I try not to compare, try not to reach up to touch my own, and bring my focus back to her eyes because it’s rude to stare and I know what it feels like when they stare at your scar and not your eyes. 

Reserved, I give a nod before my gaze wanders back to the car, and feel my panic slam back into me with full-force. I don’t realize how jittery I seem until I whirl myself around and stand on my tiptoes, desperately searching for my father. 

Where had he gone? I swear he’d been no more than ten feet away from me.

“Charlie’s in the back,” a voice pipes up from somewhere not in my field of vision, but the words, and there’s only a handful, has the erratic thundering in my chest easing into a slower rhythm. And my eyes land on those of Sam Uley. 

He stands protectively behind Emily, the woman with the open-steady-warm face. His chin resting on the top of her head, arms snaked around her front without an inch of space between them. It’s almost as if they’re trying to stitch themselves together, as if standing so close still isn’t enough for them, as if they constantly want more of each other. There’s an intimacy there that I’ve only seen in movies, or read in books. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Emily says softly, then she swivels around, with Sam still very much attached to her and makes her way toward the porch. 

Beside me, Embry drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders and steers me after them. “You want me to introduce you to everyone?” He asks then tacks on quietly with, “If it’s too much, just say the word, and I’ll scare off whoever you need me to.” 

I unintentionally seek out another face, and try to be subtle about it, but Quil takes this as his cue to sidle up next to me, cutting off my search. “Or you can tell me,” he adds, sending a look toward Embry before catching my eyes again, “because, you know – I’m also your best friend.” 

“That’s right,” I say with a single nod, “You’re my best friend. Not my bodyguard.” 

Quil looks almost like a proud older brother at my words. Embry, too, because I can feel the way his head dips low to stare at me with the same look on his face. Without further complaint coming from my two protectors, they both leave my side, and if my focus hadn’t been drilled into taking in the interior of the quaint home, I would have seen the looks they centered at my newest shadow. 

Seth is quiet as he trails about two paces behind me. There’s been multiple instances where I’ve caught him staring at me in the corner of my eye, seemingly content to be _near_ me. He watches me with half-lidded eyes, with a lazy grin, but I notice his posture will go oddly rigid at times, like he’s forcing himself back from something. 

I reach the screen door that leads to the back and immediately scope the area for my father. Off in the distance, I take in the dozen or so bodies all mingling around the fire-pit, and my heart gives a mighty tug. _Too many people_. 

A hand places itself on the small of my back, not enough pressure to move me forward, but just enough to ground me to the earth. I give an upward glance at my company, my feet at the threshold, and blink in that stupid way every time Seth Clearwater stands so close to me. He tilts his head to the side in a beckoning sort of motion. And he doesn’t say anything else, but he does smile, and I really, _really_ like the way he smiles at me. 

Gosh, he’s so pretty. 

We start moving forward, and I realize I have yet to say something, but Seth’s been so patient with me, and because of this, the soft-settling silence doesn’t feel so suffocating. 

“Are your knees healing okay?” His hand still lingers on my back as if he can feel the difference in my mood with his touch. 

“Oh, yeah.” I totally forgot about that. About the _incident_. “Thank you for helping me.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, and when I look up, there’s that dorky grin tugging at his lips even though his eyes are aimed ahead of us, toward the nearing crowd, and oh _god_ I think I’m gonna puke– “ _Easy_ , Grace.” 

My thoughts center in on his voice, trying to take in as much comfort as I can from it. Even though he’s practically a stranger, I try to latch onto him mentally as a steady, solid force. It helps, but I can’t help but reel at the amount of physical contact he so effortlessly provides me with. Like my own personal sun. 

Heads snap up upon my arrival and, amongst the social buzz, I’m able to make out my father, who’s sitting on a log closest to Billy Black, enraptured in a conversation unbeknown to me. Seth doesn’t leave my side even after I’m introduced to everyone here; all massively tall and gorgeous and intense. I don’t have to shake hands because everyone here seems content to nod at me in greeting. 

My brain stores away names like Paul, Jared, and Kim, who’s oddly attached to the looming boy beside her, much like Sam and Emily. Then others like Brady and Colin and Claire, who I learned is Emily’s niece, and sticks to Quil’s side without falter. 

Kim’s possibly the only one that’s as quiet as I am. Other than that, everyone else is rather blunt in their fascination toward me. But they seem to already know who _I_ am, if the knowing, goofy looks they present me with are anything to go by. 

I pass multiple people and find myself at my father’s side out of habit, plopping down on the log, comforted by the lack of hesitance when he tucks me into him. It’s weird. We’re never usually this content to share each other’s warmth, or in my case, general company. We tend to skirt around one another most of the time, never really feeling the need to showcase even the smallest vulnerabilities. He lets me attach myself to him, because I know he can feel my uneasiness. It’s noticeable, due to my rather climbable lack of people skills, and overall fear of big crowds.

On the other hand, Seth seems to find my presence just as comforting as I find my father’s. Like a shadow, he doesn’t stray too far. He roots himself somewhere behind me and it’s close enough to where I can feel his presence alongside Embry as they engage in a quiet conversation. I find it amusing how Seth’s hands look too large stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Hey, kiddo.” 

My gaze softens as I peek around my father’s frame. “Hey, Billy.” 

The older man offers me his kindest grin. “Glad you could make it.” 

I hum in reply and, before there’s a chance to do much of anything else, lock on the beauty in his lap. My eyebrows tick upwards. “You brought the Parlor?” 

His laugh is lulling. “Sure did. Why? You wanna play something for us?” 

“No,” I say immediately. “I’d like to check her out, though, if that’s okay.” 

Billy’s already in the process of delivering his acoustic over, passing it off to Charlie and then to me. I take her in my hands with a delicateness reserved for handling fragile glass, a reminiscent smile splitting my face. Then I place the instrument in my lap, a smooth beige surface beneath the tips of my numbing fingertips. A mindless strum against the strings of unfinished chords. 

My retentive guitar session is halted when I feel another presence beside me. A knee brushes against mine, and I look up into the eyes of my shadow. 

“That sounds pretty,” Seth’s voice is choked with eyes fixated on the half-inch of air between my fingers and the strings. “What is it?” 

There’s a gentle incredulity in my expression as I take in the genuine curiosity of his. “Wild Horses,” I say, and when he lifts his dancing gaze back to me, expression unchanged, the words roll out with urgence, “Mick Jagger? _The Rolling Stones_?” 

He notes the shift in my tone with his own increasing panic. “Is that bad?” 

“No,” I shake my head, voice hushed, “Not bad.” 

Panic falls away to reveal a deep, concentrated interest. His eyes are gentle as they dart across every inch of my face. "Your favorite?” 

The sincerity in my grin is unintentional, but I reserve it just for him. And he watches me with a mask of such an intense fidelity that it has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. However, the moment doesn’t last as I become fully aware that our conversation has spurred on the attention of half the people here. Some blatantly watching, others merely holding back clever grins. 

The warmth in my cheeks crawls up my ears, and I glance down at the guitar, wanting to use it as a shield. Charlie shifts beside me, but I don’t pay him any mind, too busy trying to ward off the stupid butterflies in my stomach. And it almost works, too. 

Until Embry opens his big fat mouth. “You think she’s good with a guitar, you should hear her sing.” 

Gaping more out of embarrassment than shock, I swivel in my spot to give him a piece of my mind, but my insult comes up short when I realize Seth had brightened at this little fact. And now it feels like someone took a torch to my heart. 

“You can sing?” 

I aim a daggering glare at my best friend. “Embry’s exaggerating.” 

“Am not,” he quips. “I’ve heard it myself.” 

“You weren’t _supposed_ to hear it,” I argue back. “You were being sneaky.” 

There’s a mad twinkle in his eyes, a gigantic smirk on his lips. “So, you admit it,” he says. “You can sing.” 

I splutter at the attention, stuck between pounding on his head with the guitar and flipping him off. Instead, as I ignore my more than amused audience, I decide it’s best not to answer. Embry simpers in his victory while Seth shoots him what I can only interpret as a look of warning before gazing back at me. 

“No one here is going to make you sing if you don’t want to.” And he says it so quietly with eyes so earnest, doing things to my head. 

“Speak for yourself,” Jared scoffs, but as soon as the words are out, there’s a resounding _whack_ followed by a whiny, “ _Hey_!” 

“ _Be nice_.” 

My eyes fly over the top of the fire-pit, landing on Kim as she scolds her other half. While he cradles his arm protectively, she turns to me with an apology written in her eyes. 

“Sorry about him,” her voice is light. “He was dropped on his head as a child.” 

The corners of my eyes crinkle in amusement. “It’s okay.” 

“Well, whenever you’re up for it, I think we’d all like to hear you play,” Emily pipes up from her place next to Sam, both wearing small smiles. “From what Quil and Embry have told us, you’re quite talented.” 

I don’t answer. I can’t. My cheeks are ablaze, the color of roses, and I’m stuck on the thought of those dummies talking about me, _bragging_ about me. With that, I shuffle nearer to Charlie, digging, _drilling_ my focus back onto the instrument in my lap and not the several pairs of eyes on _me_. I go to scratch at my wrist, clear my throat, force the blinding pink out of my cheeks, but the nerves still play that mighty game of tug of war in my chest. 

My father chuckles beside me and ruffles my hair, causing some of the wavier strands to fall out of its messy contraption on top of my head. I send an unimpressed look his way, and he brushes it off with that half-cocked grin of his before returning to conversation with Billy. 

Thankfully, and not much longer, Sam announces that dinner is ready. Relieved for this short distraction, I watch as the boys practically leap up from their seats and race to get their food, going as far as tackling one another to the ground. They remind me of rhinos in a stampede. 

“ _Boys_ ,” Emily warns, hands on her hips and glare intact. The edge to her voice even has Sam falling in with the rest of them. “Ladies first.” 

They all groan and sulk and mope as if they had their candy stolen from them. It’s all very dramatic, very amusing. 

I lean my cold cheek on the surface of the guitar, strumming absently until my fingers go numb. This all halts when a pair of shoes pop up in my line of sight. Seth’s grinning softly down at me when our gazes lock, like he’s in some sort of happy trance. 

“What do you want on your hotdog?” 

At the mention of food, the nausea that I’d been holding off since we got here comes back. “Oh, no, that’s alright. I’m not hungry.” 

That happy aura visibly falters. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes unfocused like he’s listening intently for something. 

“Yeah,” I say, flattered that he asked in the first place. “Thank you, though. You’re really sweet.” 

And just like that, the concern falls away to reveal such a soft-melting adoration that I almost miss the way his cheeks burn. 

He pretty much drifts over to the food, not even stopping when a very confused Brady, who has his hotdog shoved halfway down his throat, calls out to him worriedly. Because he’d seen the look on his friend's face and thought: _no, that’s not normal_. At this, Brady’s eyes flicker toward me, brows furrowing in a deep concentration. After a moment of blatant eye-contact, he shrugs, and ambles off toward his seat, Seth’s weird behavior now long forgotten. 

I give the guitar in my lap all of my focus, praying that the redness in my cheeks is unnoticeable. 

“Look who finally decided to show up,” a voice snickers, off to the side.

Then, “Grace?” 

The strumming I had tried to maintain a steady pace with sounds out of tune as my fingers bounce off the chords. I have to squint the slightest to even scope out a solid figure standing behind the roaring embers of the fire. 

My brows come together in quiet astonishment. “Jake?” 

It takes me a moment to realize the chatter amongst the crowd had died down greatly, all eyes, openly intrigued and apprehensive, as they stare at the scene. 

Jacob Black, one of my bestest, bravest friends, stares back with what I can only describe as some sort of agonized longing. Back rigid, shoulders squared, eyes intent – _digging_ into mine as if he wants to burrow behind my eyes and into my head. There’s something different about Jacob, besides the shorter hair and the evident growth in muscle and height. He looks tired, burdened with an uncontrollable need for something ever-lasting, just within reach, within taste. His eyes, where once were gentle and innocent, now big and bruised. He reminds me of a more rugged Atlas, carrying the weight of the world. 

Jake barrels toward me on coltish legs then halts about a foot in front of me, uncertain of boundaries. I have to tip my head backwards to catch his gaze as it sweeps over every inch of my face before leveling me with that same searching desperation. 

Now that he’s close, it’s easier to see the dirt stains on his white button up, the minuscule smudges on his cheeks. He looks like he hasn’t showered in days, but he could smell worse. I still catch whiffs of motor oil, cedarwood, and his sweat. 

After a moment, Jake looks disappointed, a bit exhausted, as if there’d been something in my eyes he couldn’t find. Something alien has me moving forward and wrapping my arms around him, hoping the tighter I hold onto him, the more likely he won’t feel this way anymore. In what feels like hours of seconds, he finally reacts and his arms come around me in a hold so fierce that it leaves me winded. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, voice muffled by his surprisingly broadened chest. 

He stoops down the slightest to burrow his face in the crook of my neck. “Yeah,” he says, and something frays at the edge of his voice, something like affliction. “I’m just glad you’re here.” 

That’s his way of saying he missed me. 

That hardened posture comes raring back as soon as Jacob lifts his head. His eyes are trained on something behind me, or a plethora of something’s, then he drops his arms and steps closer to the people around us, and looks frighteningly defensive. I notice a handful of people are watching him as if they’re ready to intercept him at any moment, but I can’t begin to understand why. 

Awkwardly, shyly, I begin to shuffle back over to my place on the log. Jacob’s head whips around to watch me, but doesn’t give in to the blind chase. Instead, he warily monitors my every move until I plop down on the log beside Charlie, who’s also conscious of the tension that seems to radiate from every single person here. For the first time ever, he looks wary of my best friend’s attitude toward me. He relaxes when Paul huffily shoves a plate of three hotdogs, all piled onto the other, into Jacob’s chest, and like a switch, his mood alters drastically as he stuffs his face. 

With my eyes trained obsessively on Jacob’s back, I nearly miss the gentle nudge of something against my hand. What I see briefly before looking up, is a water bottle, and then lock eyes with Seth. He watches me with a mouthful of hotdog, still chewing, mustard dribbling down the corner of his lips. When I take too long to react, he nudges the water bottle once more, mouth twitching in warm amusement. 

“Thank you,” I say, and reach for the bottle. The subtle brush of his knuckles against the palm of my hand sends a shiver through me, and I end up pulling back quicker than necessary. Too quick for him to notice, and long enough for me to catch the way he flexes his own hand as if the contact of my skin had burned him. He comes out of his daze soon after, perching himself on the spot next to me with slightly drunken movements. 

After a beat of silence, he swallows. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” 

The genuine worry in his voice pulls on my heartstrings. “Yeah,” I say and, after unscrewing the cap to the bottle, hold it up to my mouth in jest. “If it’ll make you happy, I can down this whole thing right now.” 

He perks up at the hint of laughter in my tone, but my eyes linger on the dab of mustard by his mouth. I hold back a grin, biting on the inside of my cheeks. Setting my water bottle down, I gesture to the napkin clutched between his hand and the bottom of his plate. “May I?” 

An adorable expression of confusion clouds his features before he looks down to his hand and then right back over to me. He hands me the napkin, and I reach up, only half-aware that his eyes chase after the movement. My throat works tightly in an attempt to hold back my laughter as I swipe at the yellow smudge. 

While he holds my gaze in an unbendable regard, the lump in his throat gives a single, nervous bob. 

I rush to explain myself, feeling panic well up in my chest, “You, ah, you had mustard.”

“It’s okay,” he replies distractedly, if not a little dazedly. 

I swallow hard. God, Seth’s too beautiful for his own good. Dark, fluttering lashes. Brown doe eyes. A chiseled jaw. Freckles sprinkled randomly on his face, barely noticeable from two feet away. 

He drifts closer and everything after that happens in slow-motion. 

The outline of a fist in my peripherals smashing against Seth’s face. Seth flying backwards off the log, slamming harshly into the ground. Everyone reacts simultaneously as Charlie’s first instinct is to pull me out of harm’s way at the same time an abundance of voices all ring out in alarm: 

“Seth!” 

“Oh, dear.” 

“Jacob, _back_!” 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

I whip my head around and spot the perpetrator. His fists are clenched, jaw and nostrils flared, and sounds utterly inhuman ripple across his chest. Almost immediately, he’d been flanked by Paul and Jared, the two overgrown boys holding him back by his shoulder-blades. Jacob doesn’t even struggle, only continues to growl. Like a dog. 

Without so much as a second thought, I rip myself out of Charlie’s protective hold and stagger to my knees at Seth’s side, assessing with an expression equivalent to sheer terror. “ _Oh, God_ – Seth, are you okay?” My hands hover frantically over his face. 

“I’m – I’m alright,” his voice is muffled by the hand that cups his face. 

I hold my breath as he recoils from the pain. The sight of his disturbingly crooked nose, the blood gushing from it, has my nausea barreling back into me. My expression shifts then, as the noise transpiring around me filters back in; the struggling, Paul, Jared, Sam all trying to talk Jacob down from storming Seth again, the crackling embers from the pit. A fire lights up my veins, and I wheel around, glaring wildly at my best friend. 

Jacob completely ignores this, as I have nothing to say, too mortified by his sudden aggression, and levels a dangerous look at the boy beside me. “You’re going to stay away from her,” he says resolutely, as if he’ll personally make sure of it. 

“You know I can’t do that, Jake,” Seth reasons in fervor, confusing me. 

Jacob goes to step forward, but the obstruction of Paul and Jared keep him from stepping too close. _This isn’t Jacob_ , I realize, now rattled, _this isn’t my best friend_. 

An anger so primitive snaps wildly beneath my collarbones, and I rise to my feet, ignoring Seth’s feeble attempts at calling me back. I march right up to Jacob, lip curled back, eyes narrowed, cheeks red, swimming with the color of my wrath. I make sure to get up in his face as much as I am able to, considering he’s two heads taller than me, and make sure he can see that ancient fire burning behind my eyes. 

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” 

For a brief second, he falters in the face of my wrath, eyes flickering to me, but remaining equal in heat. “Stay out of this, Grace.”

My anger spikes. “You don’t have the right to tell me that.” 

At this, something alien surges to life in those once kind eyes, and he growls once more, towering over me in an attempt to intimidate me. And whilst my father – that I had, up until this point, forgot was still here – inches just the slightest bit closer, the thick cloud of tension only multiplies.

“ _Jake…_ ” Seth warns from behind me, a stark contrast to his usually cheerful undertone. 

“Easy, easy,” Sam warns, voice practically a growl as his eyes flicker from me to Jacob uneasily. When neither of us back down, he grabs at my elbow and steers me behind him, and vies with Jacob himself. “Jacob, take a walk.” 

In an act of defiance, he stands his ground, but ultimately rips his gaze away from mine to level it at Sam. His lips curl back in a sneer, and tries to wrench Jared and Paul off of him for the hundredth time. They’re pretty tough, though, and the movement barely causes a repercussion. 

“ _Now_ , Jacob,” Sam demands ferociously. 

The entirety of Jacob’s stance changes to an astronomical intent. Whatever berserker-esque temper trance he’d been in seconds ago, has now shifted to something of an eerie macrocosm: guilt. And in his eyes, the terrifying realization, that had rendered us both speechless, resides in a permanent decay. 

Grunts and groans catch my attention, and as the panic slams back into me, I turn to see Seth struggling to lift himself up off the ground with one hand digging in the dirt, and the other still cupping his nose. 

My feet move on their own accord, and I rush to his side right as he loses his footing and plops back onto the dirt. His eyes, that had previously been watching Jacob warily, are now entirely on me, monitoring and anticipating my every move all the while with a strange expression on his face that closely resembles a broken smile. And it absolutely floors me, how he can still look at me like that, suddenly oblivious, when only moments ago, my best friend had laid him on his ass. 

I manage to get my arm hooked under Seth’s arm, grunting unattractively, when Jacob curses under his breath. “Grace, I didn’t – _God_ , you weren’t supposed to–” 

“Jake, c’mon,” Embry intervenes, tone firm in warning, “Just go cool off, okay?” 

Quil, my life savor, fast-walks his way over to the other side of Seth. “I got him, Grace,” he urges, eyeing me carefully. 

With a sigh, I let go, shoulders sagging at the loss of Seth’s colossal weight. Once I’m slacked, positive that Quil really does have him, I square my shoulders and, with the intent of avoiding Jacob like the plague, shoulder check him (which earns a couple of _ooh’s_ ) and stomp toward the house. 

Childish, probably, but I don’t care. 

[...]

“How does it feel?” Even though my eyes are dead-focused on Seth’s battered nose, and the blue ice pack pressed against it, I can feel his own on me. He doesn’t say anything for at least a minute, but I know that if I look away and into his eyes, I’d be lost in them, so I don’t. 

“It’s fine,” Seth says with forced lightness, trying to make his voice sound as silly as possible. “Please, stop worrying.” 

I splutter at his nonchalance. “Seth, we might have to take you to a hospital–” 

“ _Gray-cee_ ,” Quil sing-songs, elbows planted casually on the kitchen counter. “You worry too much. Besides, Seth heals _crazy_ fast.” 

The two share a look too quick for me to decipher. 

“From a _broken nose_ ?” My face screws up, and there’s a fire in my voice when I say, “Jake had _no_ right.” At the sight of Seth – head tilted back, dried blood on his chin, nose, cheeks – it’s weird that I want to kick the shit out of Jacob. A bundle of confusing emotions swirling around in the pit of my stomach all because Seth is hurt, and that terrifies me. 

“Hey, hey, look,” Seth moves his hand only a little, “It’s stopped bleeding, see? I’m fine.” 

Which is odd. Very, very odd. Why does it look like his nose is being realigned on its own? I lean in closer, unaware of the way Seth stills and holds his breath in retaliation to my proximity, and gently shove at his hand with my thumb, so that I’m able to get a clearer view of the middle of his face. Almost completely healed. My eyes flicker back and forth between Seth’s eyes and his nose while incredulity molds my features. 

“Seth.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Your nose is almost completely healed.” 

“...yeah.” 

“Seth?” 

His eyes soften, smile slowly curving at the edge of his mouth, as if he can’t help it. “Hm?”

“ _How_ ?” I demand in a whisper like a child would demand a parent tell them where they stashed their secret cookie jar, but because of this, Seth freezes up. Suddenly, he looks queasy, and there’s a part of me that feels like I’m missing something really, _really_ big here. 

Sam chooses this time to walk inside, Emily on his heel, both wearing cryptic expressions. 

At the sight of me hovering over him like a concerned mama duck, Sam’s expression relaxes just a tad. “Seth, you good?” 

He barely glances away from me, answering distractedly. “Yeah, fine.” 

Sam isn’t daunted in the least by his odd behavior, and in turn to this, drags his gaze over to me. “Charlie’s looking for you,” he says, and for the first time all night, his voice isn’t loud, and doesn't take up every inch of the room. 

Right. Charlie. Dad. _My_ dad. My dad who’s probably worried _sick_ about me, because these days, he almost always is. With a sigh that feels too forced, I look back down at my patient and frown. Seth’s expression nearly instantly imitates the downturn of my lips and furrowed brows as if the defeat in my eyes is enough to kickstart a self-induced panic in himself. 

“Keep that there,” I instruct in earnest while reaching over to guide his hand over the ice pack. His eyes trail after the movement, going cross-eyed as they stop at my hand before fluidly chasing after it once more. As I go to stand, he follows naturally, a move as easy as inhaling, and what’s funny is that he seems to be utterly unaware that he’s doing it. 

I force over a look of impassiveness and clear my throat, side-stepping Seth’s massive frame. Quil, with his arms casually interlocked over his chest, meets me halfway, and bends down only a little so that I can press my lips to his cheek in farewell, mumbling a soft, “ _Au revoir_.”

Quil gives me a one-armed hug, squishing me to his chest. “Later, Gracie.” 

I swivel around and give Emily and Sam small smiles of gratitude. “Thank you for your hospitality,” I begin, wringing my hands together, before hastily getting out, “I want to apologize on behalf of Jake–” 

“Nonsense,” Emily dismisses kindly, “What Jacob did was his own fault.” 

What Jacob did was becoming almost incomprehensible to me. The longer I think about the way he’d so ruthlessly socked Seth in the face, and pretended as if I wasn’t even there by acting like he had some claim over who I could spend my time with – it angers me to the point where I want to hit something. Although, I have a feeling that wouldn’t be so ladylike, so instead, I bundle up the sleeves between my fists and keep my mouth shut. 

“Oh, and Grace?” I whirl around and spy Sam, who watches with a gentle transparency. “You’re always welcome here.” 

My chest swells with an unfathomable gratitude at such a mundane blessing. I can feel the muscles in my face twitching. 

“Thank you,” I say, and because I can’t help myself – really, I can’t – I spare a glance over at my shadow. And he smiles at me, and because of this, I smile too. The cause of a ripple effect: he takes a step after me, a reflex to follow, but he doesn’t get very far, because Quil, in the midst of fighting back laughter, clamps down on his shoulders, rooting him to the spot. He says something to him, something too quiet for me to hear, but Seth nods numbly. 

And I almost bump into Embry. 

“Woah there,” the soft timber of his voice echoes distantly as he reaches out to steady me, “You good, Gracie?” 

I whip my head around to stare at my best friend with reddening cheeks, then clear my throat. “Yup, fine.” With an abruptness I never knew I had, I reach up and kiss his cheek then skip down the porch, ignoring his high-pitch sound of astonishment. 

“ _Bye,_ I guess,” he says, words oddly enunciated, stunned by my change of mood. 

I lift my hand without turning around. A poor attempt at a farewell, if I’ve ever seen one.

  
  



	6. CHAPTER SIX. PART ONE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honest to God did not anticipate this being over 10K words, which is why I had to split them into two separate chapters. I think the main reason for the add in words is because it’s a slightly different writing style; it’s easy to notice the shift in detail, flow, and prose, so I hope that isn’t too drastic of a change. 
> 
> I am nearly finished with the second half of this chapter, so it shouldn't be too long of a wait. But I wanted to get this out to y'all because I love hearing back from you. 
> 
> Also, I will be changing the time the original storyline takes place, so instead of it being set in 2006/07, it will be a little after that, most likely 2014/15, I haven’t decided yet. Let me know what you think.

“Wakey wakey, sunshine.” 

A groan spills out of me at the gentle shove against my arm. Scalding skin against the coolness of my own. I bat it away last minute, shoveling my face deeper into my pillow. A muffled laugh somewhere off to my side. 

“ _Gray-cee_ , I got you coffee.” 

And I try really hard not to seem too enthusiastic at the mention of coffee, but as soon as I get a whiff of it, my head lifts off the pillow in a drowsy haze. Blinds drawn back, sunlight filtering through. I squint, still very much heavy with sleep, but manage to discern an outline of a body knelt down on the side of my bed. With a steamy cup attached to a hand. 

A face comes into clear view. 

“What’re you doing here?” The high-pitched, nasally tone of my voice has both me and my uninvited guest wincing. After a moment, I sniffle and clear my throat, but cut it prematurely when the soreness in my tonsils flare in vengeance. Hand to my neck, I sit up with the help of my elbows, but immediately give pause. I make a face at the empty air while my head spins and the nausea billows like a burst of smoke inside my stomach. 

In a haste to assist me, Embry lurches for the pill bottle and holds it out to me. Without falter, I take the offered container and rattle it until a rectangular pill pops out and lands in the palm of my hand. Instead of reaching for the coffee, I lean over and curl my nimble fingers around the glass of water that sits on my nightstand, gulping it down and then placing it back on the table.

Embry tilts his head, eyes boring into the side of my face, but in a way that seems forced, like he’s purposely trying not to look anywhere else. With the glass of water caged between my two hands resting in my lap, I realize belatedly that it’s most likely because there isn’t anything covering up my scar. 

He very aptly hands over the thick plastic cup of steaming coffee and shifts on his knees, looking a bit far-off as he does so. For a moment, all we do is remain in this sufferable silence, only the sound of my gentle slurping and the occasional throat clearing can be heard. After a moment, he finally speaks. 

“Seth’s waiting down stairs.” 

It’s weird how my entire body buzzes at the mere mention of his name, and it doesn’t help that Embry seems to notice something change in my posture, if the monkey-ish grin on his face is anything to go by. In order to ignore this, because I know he’s just fishing for a reaction out of me, I tug my frizzy locks out of the hair tie with my free hand, giving leeway to the unspoken question drifting between us. 

“Is there a special occasion?” I rasp weakly, trying to sniff past the blockage in my nose whilst combing my fingers through my hair. Embry watches the movement almost like he’s hesitating on telling me, but I know he won’t give until I push. “Spit it out, Em.” 

He drags his eyes back over to me, forehead wrinkling with that unremitting brotherly concern. The emotion there is so abrupt, charged with an intensity that has me visibly faltering. Slowly, warily, I lower my hand and let it drop down to my lap, keeping my eyes on the boy knelt at my side.

“What?” I ask, softer this time. 

He targets that inborn brittle grin at me. “I came over with the intention to get you out of the house,” he alludes, and when I don’t say anything, tacks on with a hasty, “Only if you’re up for it.” 

“I don’t mind,” I state unhesitatingly, but then pause afterward, stunned by my own actions. Embry catches this, and sniggers as if there’s some sort of inside joke I’m not in on. 

Last night, I had come to the conclusion that, no matter how hard I try to keep away, there’s this part of me that enjoys Seth's company. I couldn’t explain the emptiness in the cavity of my chest after leaving Emily’s – it had felt as if I’d ended a time with him prematurely. 

Before Embry leaves the room, he flippantly reminds me to wear something warm because we’re going to the beach. Anxiety seeps through me at the thought of there being just as much as people as there had been last night at the bonfire. For the sake of being in Seth’s presence today, I tell myself it won’t be that bad and carefully untangle my limbs from my quilt. 

After some contemplation, I grab my baggiest overalls, but tense at the sight of maroon peeking out from the pile of clothes near the bottom of my closet. I bend down and tug it out, feeling a pang in my chest when I realize it’s one of Jacob’s beanies. Without falter, I shove my face into the warmth and inhale deeply – it still smells like him, oddly enough. 

But then I remember the way he acted last night, and every ounce of longing and affection vanishes. With that, I finish getting ready then anxiously make my way down stairs.

Seth makes me nervous. The thought of seeing him, and being _near_ him, has me in a mess of jitters. It’s then I realize that this – whatever _this_ is – cannot possibly be described as plain attraction. I don’t think it even compares. For whatever reason, it’s as if I’m stuck in a loop of an eternal longing. No matter how close I am, whether physical or emotional, it’s still there, swirling and swooping and unwavering. 

God, that sounds insane. 

As soon as my feet touch the last step, my eyes unflinchingly scope out Seth. I’m surprised to catch him, at the sight of me, pushing himself off the wall he’d been casually leaning against before blundering over to me like a puppy. 

“Hey,” he breathes out, and in a very gentlemanly manner, takes my duffle into his own hands. Swirling copper intent on me. “You look really pretty.” 

My heart pumps with joy. Like that stupid, loopy, demented type of joy you get after you’ve been given Nitrous oxide. The feeling is nearly suffocating. 

Yet, still, all I do is blink. “Oh. Thank you.” 

Seth had been in the middle of adjusting the strap of my duffle over his shoulder when his hand halts all movement. He turns to inspect me head-to-toe with an open, intense worry, brows cinched together. I internally cringe. Did my voice sound that terrible? 

Avoiding confrontation, I clumsily move around him. 

As I pass the living room, I spy Embry lounging on the sofa with his ankle squared over one knee, eyes lit up with a brazen silliness. I countermeasure this with a quick, half-witted flip of my middle finger and, at the loud sputtering of his laughter, wander into the kitchen. I catch sight of Charlie sitting at the table, nose buried behind a newspaper while occasionally sipping at his coffee. Without alerting him of my sudden presence, I dip down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. He looks up then, an instinctual smile in place. 

“I’m gonna head out for a couple of hours, if that’s okay.” 

He begins to nod before finally taking note of my sandpapery tone, and overall lassitude, with a look of mild concern. “Are you feeling okay, kiddo?” 

“‘s just a cold. I’ll be fine.” 

Unconvinced, he stands up from the chair and places the back of his hand to my forehead. He frowns before turning over his palm, repeating the process. When he pulls back, there’s nothing but a prominent crinkle creasing in the middle of his forehead. Before I have the chance to even convince him otherwise, he’s already well on his way to getting properly worked up. 

“You feel warm. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea–”

“Dad,” I cut him off, but even I can hear the croaking of my voice. “I’ll be _fine_.” 

Charlie and I have a brief stare-down, and it’s then that I can see the cogs ticking away in that head of his. You’d think for someone like me, it’d be a bit difficult to get an actual read on his emotions considering he’s much like Bella in that aspect. I suppose, over the years, I’ve learned to really _see_ people. 

Body language is a dead giveaway. I watch as my father reaches a hand up to scratch distractedly, if not a little forcibly, at the stubble lining his jaw and chin. A gesture I’ve seen just about every time I had to go see my doctor. Except this time, he doesn’t need Bella to pry our hands apart. 

He heaves a weighted sigh. “Okay, but before you go–” he reaches inside his coat pocket and extends a rectangular device to me– “Take this.” 

I realize, belatedly, that this is the cellphone my father had insisted that he get for me, and force back a groan. Instead, I take it like he asked, and turn it over in my palm. Larger than my hand, midnight black, sleek and slim like every Apple product out there. 

A stupid selfishness settles in the pit of my stomach over the fact that we’ve fought over this, and then twists further when I realize this had been the exact reason why. So, I allow a smile to split into my cheeks. 

He ruffles my hair in the ole fatherly fashioned way. “Make sure you call me if anything happens, okay?” 

“Nothing will happen,” I vow, and begin to backpedal out of the kitchen. “You just worry too much.” 

He gives me his best _I-am-highly-offended-that-you-think-that_ look then sighs, suddenly resigned. “Yeah, well.” 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Swan.” Embry pops up behind me, dipping his chin to rest on my right shoulder. He gives my father his best cheeky grin. “We’ll have her home in one piece.” 

Charlie’s eyes dart between the two of us with an expression that says he wants to take it back and lock me inside my room. But, I stand my ground, next to Embry, and poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue, fighting off my amusement. He ends up settling his gaze pointedly on Embry, a notorious expression, one that bleeds authority. The boy beside me, however, isn’t intimidated in the least, pleasantly used to my father after spending almost every waking moment in this house with me over the years. 

Charlie grunts softly, hardened exterior uncracked, but not unkind. 

My best friend sniggers and ambles off toward the front door, dragging a very reluctant Seth along with him. Before they disappear, Seth bids my father a twinkling, " _Take it easy, Mr. Swan_.” Then he’s carted off with Embry’s hand gripping the back of his shirt like he’s some over-excited toddler that has no self-control whatsoever. It reminds me of the way he behaved last night; Quil had to practically hold him back by his shoulders. 

My father pays heed to them, but finally shoos me out of the house with a warning to be safe and to – _once again_ – call him if I need anything. At the mention of this, I tuck the phone into my pocket and make my way outside. 

Spotting both boys, I begin my walk over to the unfamiliar black jeep. As Seth places my duffle in the back, I immediately go over to the other side after turning down Embry’s offer of shot-gun. 

He _never_ offers me shot-gun. 

The second my hand curls around the handle, Seth appears beside me. A moment too late, and right as the door swings open, the _very pointy_ edge, smacks right into him. His head cracks back just as his hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he recoils, much like he had last night when Jacob had punched him. 

A sudden terror slams into me then as I propel myself forward, cursing under my breath as I try to unlatch his fingers gingerly. I give a visible wince, wanting to burrow myself under a rock in shame. 

“ _Crap_ , Seth, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, voice scratched. 

I wince. “I am _so_ sorry.” 

Whatever he sees on my face, he doesn’t seem too happy about it. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Then he tries to placate me by wiggling the bridge slightly. “It doesn’t even hurt, honest.” 

At his words, I relax the slightest, but still reel over the fact that his nose – the one that had looked too crooked to be _not_ broken – now looks completely healed. 

Embry makes a sound of amusement from the passenger side, but I’m too distracted by the leveled slant of the bridge of his nose to even turn away to give him any sort of reprimanding. Rather, I glance warily up at Seth, furling my brows when he all but tenses in retaliation as if he anticipates a question from me. 

“Can we _go_ now?” Embry drawls out petulantly, lips forming into a pout. 

As if burnt, I retract my hand so ridiculously fast that even Seth furrows his brows, now aware of my unease. My breath stalls in my lungs as I widen my eyes at anywhere _but_ him. 

Without wanting to draw attention, I slide into the back of the jeep and buckle myself up. Seth closes the door, and I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face, even when he passes over on the other side to reach the driver’s seat. 

As questions race around in my head, the scent of the inside of Seth’s jeep is enough to have me momentarily distracted, and this time, for an entirely different reason. The sound of the ignition starts up, and I take this time to breathe in deeply, instantly overwrought when the aftermath causes a tickle in my stomach. I have half the thought to wonder if this is what Seth himself smells like, and then shove it into the denial vault as the jeep gives a little lurch over the pavement. 

As I go to lean my head on the window once more, I catch a glimpse of Seth through the rear-view mirror. Although he tries not to let his eyes linger for too long, it’s easy to decipher the weighted look on his face as worry. 

Hoping to alleviate him just the tiniest, I give him a small smile when his gaze swings back up, and find that tickling sensation in my stomach resurfacing when the color of his cheeks darken in a blush. It boosts my ego greatly, but my confidence weakens, so I have to force myself to look away. 

Not five minutes later, and I can feel my eyelids drooping, my body sinking languidly into the seat. I don’t stop it, uncaring of how silly I might look. It’s then I realize that I completely forgot my coffee back at the house, and find myself frowning instinctively at the empty air. At this moment, I am not even the slightest bit wired with caffeine and will most likely be dead asleep by the time we reach La Push. 

The first time I find myself nodding off, my eyes instinctively roam over toward the rear-view mirror. And in between the moment of rearranging myself and blinking away the fatigue, Seth averts his eyes back to the road. 

Embarrassingly, I realize that he’d caught me snoozing away in the back of his jeep and then self-consciously swipe at my face for any drool. At even the tiniest movements, his eyes fly over to me, like a natural reflex. Unexpectedly, my heart lifts and lifts until I can barely contain its frantic wave of euphoria.

Meanwhile, the image of Seth’s white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel stays with me until my eyes slip closed once again.

* * *

“Grace?” The soothing baritone of Seth’s voice as he gently nudges me awake has a warmth scudding through my skin. “Grace, we’re here.” 

My eyes flutter open uneasily, capturing the image of Seth knelt down beside me, features tempering in a subtle fondness as I wrestle with the seatbelt. On the third try, he tentatively reaches over and unbuckles it for me. 

Too fatigued to let any amount of embarrassment wash over me, I stretch and yawn, rubbing at my nose with the sleeve of my sweater and attempting to clear my sinuses simultaneously. 

With a firm focus, Seth tracks my lethargic movements. He slowly stands to his full height in a stance that resembles someone bracing for the inevitable. The moment my legs threaten to give out from beneath me, he shoots forward, one hand at the small of my back while the other rests almost respectfully at my waist. 

An involuntary shudder ripples through me at the sheer – almost _abnormal_ – warmth that seeps through his flannel and into my skin. The way his fingertips press lightly against me is near visceral, as well as the all but deliriously rapid beating of his heart in his chest. It doesn’t help that he smells like fruity pebbles and clean cotton. 

As he goes to shut the door, I shift closer to him, surprised to feel his muscles tense in immediate response. 

“Got her?” Embry’s tone is pinched in worry, like always. 

“Yeah,” Seth squeaks out adorably. _Mm, warm._ “We’ll catch up.” 

I peek an eye open in time to catch the retreating figure of my best friend ambling down toward the beach – my duffle in one hand, and a brown paper bag in the other. The fact that he has my duffle with my personal belongings doesn’t bother me; I trust him enough to take care of my things. Besides, Embry isn’t clumsy nor is he careless. 

Seth nuzzles the top of my head. “Are you feeling okay?” 

At the sound of his voice, something inside of me, something like instinct, gives a mighty kick against my ribs and I untangle myself from his hold. Forcing space between the two of us, I glance up warily, feeling the air inside my lungs catch at the unbending attachment in his eyes. 

Even though his skin was nothing short of sweltering, it felt – dare I say – _incredible_. In fact, it felt so good that I wanted to burrow myself inside him in every way imaginable. 

A slow-burning heat infuses my cheeks. “I’m okay.” I avert my gaze to the gravel. “Thank you.” 

Seth follows closely behind me as we mosey toward the beach. He stands between me and the road before we even make it to the sand, and even takes to directing me through a heap of rocks and branches. After almost face-planting on a particular jagged boulder, he asks if he can hold my hand so that there’s no chance of hurting myself. Even with my hand in his, which I can’t help but notice is calloused yet swooningly soft, he never once looks away and keeps a close eye on wherever I step. 

Roaring laughter echoes off the rocks, bringing my attention over to a small group of people. The fatigue is just barely wearing off, but I’m still able to pick out some familiar faces. I have the thought to let go of Seth’s hand, but feel that if I do, it’d seem rude. 

In an act purely of his own consent, he gently uncurls his large, deft fingers from my own, and I’m met with a look that’s wreathed in smiles. It makes me so wretchedly, strangely, dementedly happy, but I have no clue why. 

Apparently, it’d been so uncharacteristic that it causes him to stop and stare. And that’s all he does – stare, seemingly stuck and unable to make himself move even if he tried. An odd look of nostalgia flutters across his naturally boyish features, and just as I begin to wonder if he’s alright, it’s gone, replaced by a sinking embarrassment. 

Trying to comprehend the absolute train-wreck of what just occurred, I barely acknowledge my bulldozer of a best friend bounding over to me. There’s an ecstatic shout of my name and before he swoops me into him with his incredibly hulky arms. 

“ _Quil_ ,” I gripe feebly, feeling my cheek ignite from underneath the soft pressure of his lips. “I don’t want to get you sick.” 

At that, he pulls away and, while holding me at arm’s length, assesses me with a deeply concerned crinkle between his brows. “Sick?” He parrots, and before I have the chance to answer, he turns his gaze over to the puppy-eyed boy beside me. They share a look, and while Quil appears nettled by this piece of information, Seth oozes with guilt.

“Hi, Grace!” The childlike timber of a voice brings my focus down to the little girl clinging to Quil’s legs. When we make eye-contact, she gives me a gap-toothed grin and unlatches one small hand to wiggle her fingers up at me. 

I lift my hand in a shy wave. “Hi.” 

“My name’s Claire. Do you wanna help me build a sand castle?” Her words come out all in one breath, her big eyes blinking up at me entreatingly. 

“Oh, um...” My eyes flicker up to Quil’s on their own accord, only to find him watching the scene unfold with a distinctive softness. He gives me a subtle shrug as if to say, ‘it’s up to you’, and with that, I glance back at the toddler still stitched to his leg, and nod resolutely. “Of course, I’ll help.” 

Her gratitude comes in the form of one highly ear-splitting screech. She finally pulls away from Quil’s leg and curls her tubby fingers around my pinky, tugging on it excitedly and leaving me to stumble after her. Distinctly, I can make out the unrestricted laughter coming from Quil and Seth. 

Claire navigates us over to a pile of sand-shaping tools, jabbering animatedly about her plans in such a way that I fear if she doesn’t take a breath soon, she’d pass out. I try to keep up – really, I do – she’s just so darn fast. 

We pass a bench on our way there, where I’m greeted kindly by Sam and Emily and Kim, all wearing varying expressions of amusement. Nevertheless, they greet me with an open kindliness, and even Sam looks content – no tense shoulders, no tight-lipped smile or frown lines marring his features. He stands endearingly close to his fiancée, cheek-to-cheek, arms snug around her waist whilst she gives them a loving pat. Kim is the only one who throws an ecstatic wave my way – an unnatural gesture for someone who’s so shy. 

Still, I can’t help but notice Jacob isn’t here. My disappointment falls over me like a damp towel. 

As we reach the spot, Claire plops down clumsily. We happen to be about twenty feet away from an avid game of soccer, and upon my arrival, the game takes a brief pause. An assortment of voices suffocate my senses, riotously calling out my name in greeting. My cheeks flame as I spot the boys – Paul, Jared, Brady, and Collin – waving at me from beyond the shore. 

My jaw swings loose and, with movements oddly resembling a robot, I return the gesture. The heat in my cheeks has reached all the way up to the roots of my hair, highlighting my obvious admiration for their sheer Adonian attractiveness. _My word_ , these boys look like Grecian Statues with clothes _on_ – and it only increases when they take their shirts _off_. Squinting, I catch a glimpse of their tattooed biceps, but given that it’s too far away, the art becomes blurred. 

Before there’s a chance to get fully lost in my thoughts, Claire tugs pleadingly on the sleeve of my sweater, and forces me to flump down beside her. 

My mind is elsewhere, but surprisingly enough, I manage to make due in my castle-making duties and push past the fatigue and nausea. The constant chit-chat of the three year old beside me is enough to keep my eyes from fluttering closed every two minutes. She tells me about her school, how much she loves Quil and Emily and her parents, and all of this whilst creating a four foot sand-castle. 

We’d just gotten the tower piled to the top with sand when Quil comes strolling over. He kneels down next to Claire, and wordlessly begins helping. 

“You feelin’ alright, Gracie?” He doesn’t look away from his task as he asks me this, but the worry in his voice is tangible. 

I _mhm_. 

“Why don’t you go take a break?” He aims a sidelong glance my way. “I can take over for a while.” 

Realization dawns on me, but I keep my expression schooled into one of indifference. “If that’s alright with you, Claire.” 

She gives a more than vigorous nod, happy to keep Quil for herself. A foul mood settles over me then, and I sigh irritably. 

Quil halts and lifts his head, meeting my gaze with a look of guilty conscience. 

Without meeting the look in his eyes head-on, I stand to my feet, dust off the sand, and turn crisply on my heel without a backward glance.

When I get about two paces away, I hear Claire mumble confusedly, “Why is Grace upset?” 

Quil replies with a heartfelt, “I don’t know, Claire-bear.” 

The urge to scoff is quashed when my world is suddenly tilted off its axis. Hands grip at my thighs, hoisting me up and placing me on broad shoulders. I squeal instead, grappling for balance, squeezing my thighs to keep me from tipping forward. 

Paul cackles in retaliation while curling his hands around my ankles, seemingly unaffected by my impedance. 

My mouth gapes open as words messily splutter out of me, “What – what are you doing?” 

“You’re too slow,” Paul replies smoothly. 

A _terrible_ excuse. The extent of my cheeks and ears scorch, but before there’s a chance for me to wiggle off of him somehow, he’s already placing me gently back on the ground. As the nausea settles, I realize _why_. 

Kim, Emily, Sam and Seth all stare right back. We’d made it to a bench with food piled slovenly on top of it, stacked high, and right at the foot, rests my duffle bag. 

For the first time, the look on Seth’s face isn’t pleasant. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. He aims a reproachful glare at Paul, who stands with his arms folded, grinning impishly back at him. I take in the tick in Seth’s jaw that’s addled with his rigid posture, feeling my own apprehension derive from this. In a ripple effect, something similar to a growl permeates the expanse of space between us. My heart leaps impossibly high at the sheer defensiveness of Seth’s stance. As if he’s able to sense the shift in my emotions, the spell breaks. 

Feeling Seth’s eyes chase after me, I slug my duffle from out beneath the bench. In a move purely out of residual irritability, I yank at the zipper when it catches on the metal slider, and wince when it pinches the skin on my hand. 

Tension rises. 

In my peripherals, I catch a russet hand reach over and unzip the duffle easily. Seth. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the gentle intensity of his gaze on the side of my face.

Emily asks if I’m in the mood to eat, and I decline politely without making any sort of eye-contact. Just as I’m pulling out the blanket, Sam and Paul declare another round of soccer, but stop to ask Seth if he wants to join them. An obvious hesitation overcomes him, but he relents after a quiet moment. 

Once my blanket is set out, I shuffle over and plop myself down. Then Seth’s flannel lands near the edge of my blanket, and I stare at it with an inordinate amount of intensification before tearing my gaze away and glancing up. 

In a typical male fashion, Seth tugs his shirt off of him, and flings it right next to his flannel. The movement causes certain tendons and muscles to ripple and stretch. A subconscious need forces me to let my eyes roam over his bulging biceps and the well-defined six-pack, sending a searing heat through my belly. Neglecting every ounce of discretion, I let my eyes travel further down and nearly sigh in content at the sight of his Adonis belt and the thin trail of hair leading down beneath his jeans. 

_No, stop. Bad, Grace. Bad, bad, bad._

Seth is unsuspecting of my shameless ogling. He turns away with his back facing me and lifts his arms to the sky. Then, with one hand interlocked around his wrist, he pulls. The movement stretches out all six feet of him as a tiny echo of his joints popping fills my ears. This also gives me a glimpse of the way his jeans hang loosely on his hips, and the near sensual indentation where spine meets pelvis. 

_Sweet baby Jesus_. 

And the ink embedded into his right bicep, an image of two wolves to create the face of the third. I can understand why Paul and Sam have a tattoo, but Seth doesn’t strike me as the type to get one. Although, neither does Embry and Quil, and I’ve known them for half of my life. Could it be a shared pact, perhaps? Too many possibilities; I’ll have to do research on it, later. 

In a flustered panic, I reach over and lug the duffle bag into my lap and hunt for a book to read. I practically force my head into it so that no one can witness the ridiculous shade of red painted across my cheeks. 

“Yo, Seth, you ready?” Paul calls back from ten feet out. 

Curiously, I sneak a glance from where my head is swallowed by my duffle. My chest expands when my eyes encounter liquid pools of copper, staring with such blatant affection that I have to redirect my gaze back down to the book in my lap and pretend that it’s the most interesting thing this side of the moon. 

“Seth! Get your ass over here, so we can _play_ , already!” 

Quil makes a wordless, staccato kind of sound. “Jared! There is a _child_ present!” 

My lips twitch reluctantly. 

Then, “Sorry. Can you _please_ get your ass over here, so we can play?” 

Behind me, both Kim and Emily erupt into hushed giggles. I snort once, but keep my expression blank. 

“I’m coming!” Seth responds, laughing jubilantly. Once his feet disappear from the spot in front of me, my breath expels from my lips tremulously. 

We fall into a comfortable solitude, with both Kim and Emily making half-hearted quips about the boys as they compete against each other like mongrels. On occasion, my eyes will flit up purely of their own control and scout for the copper-eyed boy. It doesn’t help that every time I catch sight of his bare chest a feeling utterly staggering sends my heart into an untamed whorl of longing. I swear it’s as if Seth can physically sense this, because the second it happens, his mood changes drastically. 

Both Jared and Embry use Seth’s distraction to their advantage and practically tackle him to the ground, kicking up sand in the process. The sound of Kim and Emily gasping out of shock behind me kick-starts the panic. I whip my head around to stare at them, eyes large and troubled. They merely shoot me small grins and reassure me that he’ll be okay. It makes me feel better. 

Emily asks me about my life in Florida. Without batting an eye, she nudges in a question about my love life, which is nonexistence on a massive scale. I tell her I’m too reserved for romance, but she laughs that laugh that makes me think she knows something that I don’t, and tells me that I should give it a chance. I sit and mull on that thought, barely able to properly pay attention to the words on the paper. 

What seems like hours of minutes later, Seth ambles his way over to us and plunks himself down on my blanket beside me. There’s a comfortable silence dancing in the spaces between us, and even the idle chatter from Emily and Kim seems to fade away into background noise. 

A gentle breeze blows through the frizzy strands of my hair and shutters through my thin scarf. I chance a peek over at Seth and my breath catches. Lounging peacefully with his arms folded behind his head, eyes closed, he appears serenely unaware of every little thing. 

The beating in my chest spurs on with a manic sort of bliss, and I’m left to stare down at the book in my lap in puzzlement. I shift uncomfortably and tense when this garners Seth’s attention instantly. 

Noting my shift in mood, he hesitantly props himself up on his elbows. “Are you okay?”

Something in his voice has me crumbling, and we lock gazes, where the adorable concentration in his eyes has that thing inside my chest faltering relentlessly. I give a wordless nod, not trusting my voice, and look away. The words on the page begin to blur together. My temples thud dully. 

Seth’s shadow looms over my shoulder, peeking curiously. “ _The Definitive History of Life on Earth_.” His breath bathes my cheek in warmth, sending sharp zaps of longing through me. “So, you like history?” 

I sneak a glance at him, coming face-to-face with soft, watchful eyes. “No. I like prehistoric history.” A playful quirk of my lips. “There’s a difference.” 

“Alright, I’m all ears,” he says unthinkingly, before taking note of the confusion on my face and tacking on with a cheeky, “Lay some facts on me.” 

I arch a brow. “Are you sure? We might be here all day.” 

“I have time.” He shrugs easily, content and yet so eager from the idea of sitting here for hours as I drone on and on about _history facts_. 

I eye him warily. “You’d be fine with that?” 

He chuckles feverishly as if _not_ being fine with it is ludicrous, then breathes out in an unnervingly imploring tone, “More than I can possibly put into words.” 

Despite the way his confession turns my insides to mush, my features form into a quizzical frown. 

In an act purely out of reflex, Seth smooths his thumb over the crease in my forehead. Stunned into silence, I watch with restrained yearning as he lowers his hand all the while trapping me with a look so coated in adoration and love that it makes me queasy. 

I desperately search for an escape, but I’m too absorbed in _him_ , utterly defenseless underneath that mind-numbing gaze. “I don’t get it,” I blurt out. 

Seemingly distracted by the emotion in my eyes, he mutters, “What don’t you get?” 

“You.” When silence follows, I continue on in a tremulous voice, “Even after what Jacob did, you still want to be around me, and I don’t get it.” 

He sends me the softest of smiles. “It’s impossible for me to not want to be around you, Grace.” 

The genuine lull of his words has my tummy exploding with nerves. Not the bad kind of nerves, but the giddy kind – the cranking up a rollercoaster kind of nerves. It almost feels as if every atom of my being is humming, as if his words are glazing over the blood in my veins with a newfound and overwhelmingly concerning feeling. Though, I can’t quite put together the double-meaning behind them. 

“You barely know me,” I remind him cautiously. 

Again, he gives an unperturbed shrug. “Then let me know you.” A puppyish twinkle in his eyes, and my heart cannons out the next few beats.

“Okay.” I find myself complying easily, pausing at how quick that had slipped out. Seth beams adorably in the face of my perplexity, but otherwise doesn’t comment on it. I swipe at my runny nose. “What do you want to know?” 

“Everything,” he intones, hopeful. 

Unable to meet the intensity in his eyes, I redirect my focus to his collarbones, mumbling, “That’s a loaded answer.”

“I’m naturally curious,” he counters with ease, craning his neck low to catch my gaze. 

“Okay, fine.” I straighten my back and cross my legs, nonplussed by how fluidly Seth imitates the movement. We’re sitting so close together that our knees are touching. “Twenty-one questions. Ever played?” 

He bobs his head up and down fervently, and shifts around in his spot. He honestly reminds me of a newborn puppy with his uncontrolled excitement. And now his excitement is making me excited, and I can’t find it in myself to sit still for more than five seconds. Seth Clearwater is infectious. 

“You go first.” I tuck my legs underneath my butt after compulsively discarding my book to a place somewhere in my peripherals.

After a moment, Seth breathes out in blatant curiosity, “Is your first name actually Kennedy?” 

“Yes, but I prefer Grace… I don’t like my first name.” 

“I think it’s pretty. Can I call you Kennedy instead?” 

“ _It’s my turn_ ,” I sing teasingly. “Why is your skin so warm?” 

“It’s a genetics thing.” He shrugs as if he had anticipated this question from me. “Can I call you Kennedy?” 

My nose scrunches. “Ask a different question.” 

There’s a gentle submission in his gaze. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Yellow.” I rub the sleeve of my sweater against my nose, and sniff loudly, before adding as an afterthought, “But like – like the Calabash Nebula. What’s yours?” 

“The color of your eyes,” he replies, equally ready yet fond. “What’s the Calabash Nebula?” 

Humming in thought, I reach over to my duffle and pull out a thick, colorful hardback. I flip it open to one of the marked pages with a yellow sticky note poking out from the top, and then slide the open page over, pointing at the meshed nebula. 

“This.”

He only looks down at it briefly, enough time to admire the image before his gaze, now morphed with a rapturous wonder, lands on me. “You like astronomy?” 

My arm lifts in a shrug. “‘s just a hobby, but my love for space will never surpass my love for paleontology.” 

He does that weird thing where his eyes race over every inch of my face. “Really?” 

“Really,” I admit, a bit humbled. “I wanna work in a museum where I can _wow_ everybody with my dope dinosaur facts.” He meets the goofy look on my face with one of his own, but then he softens it down at me and my heart shoots right up into my throat. “It sounds lame, I know.” 

“It doesn’t sound lame,” he says, reinforced by his persistence. “I think it’s pretty cool.” 

I raise a brow. “I suppose – what? For a girl?” 

All color drains from his face. He starts shaking his head aggressively. “No, of course not. I wasn’t–” 

“That’s pretty sexist, Seth.” 

He lets out a panicked yelp. “No, no. I wasn’t – I didn’t mean it like that. I swear, I–” his stuttering halts, eyes zeroing in on the cheeky grin straining against my lips. Then, he says, in a drop-dead serious voice, “You’re making fun of me.” 

_You’re so gullible, I couldn’t help myself_. 

The corners of my eyes crinkle. “You’re turn.” 

His expression turns severe, eyes rapidly flickering back and forth between my own. “Are you happy?” 

My breath hitches, making me choke on my saliva all the while sending me into a coughing fit. Seth’s eyes sharpen from gentle copper to a keen alertness as he scrambles out of his spot. He frantically yanks the brown paper bag on the other side of the blanket and into his lap. 

The tightness in my chest constricts further, but I manage to get the hacking under control just as he tears open a pouch of cough drops. Most of them go flying, but that doesn’t deter him as he reaches for my hand and places one in the center of my palm. I breathe in painfully, wincing at the burning in my lungs, and he observes this with an increasing worry. 

“Do you need anything else?” he asks – no, pleads. 

“Water, please.” 

A quick nod and he’s off and away with an adorable little stagger to his step. As I’m standing up, that’s when everything starts to take a dive to the deep end. 

The sound of angry, restless footfalls pummeling behind me. Rushed, frantic voices. A snarl that nearly sounds inhuman. Struck with a sudden panic, I swivel around; the sight of my best friend and a woman with short cropped dark hair staggering disconcertingly after him, mouth moving with a sneering effort. Jacob’s hands are clenched and at his sides, and his entire body seems to be vibrating. A feral glint in his eyes burns like the heat of a thousand suns. The outline of his body begins to blur as my stomach churns miserably. 

Once he reaches me, he latches large, callous fingers around my wrist. “Come on. We’re leaving.” His tone brooks no room for argument.

I shoot a wary glance over my shoulder, scouting for Seth, but the tug that Jacob gives sends pain jolting through and up my wrist. I don’t think he understands how strong he is. Instinct has me digging the heels of my feet into the sand, stalling for time. 

“Jacob, let me go,” I force out meekly. “You’re scaring me.”

Hastily, he whirls around, an earth-shattering emotion lighting up his face as he stares down at me. “I can’t let them have you, too.” 

A familiar russet hand shoots out and clamps down on Jacob’s forearm like a steel trap. 

Seth looks as if on the verge of losing himself to a mix of anger and fear. As if Jacob had just threatened his very existence by touching me. 

In the corner of my eye, Sam throws up his hand in a motion that has the rest of the Quileute boys behind him halting, watching the scene with heavily guarded expressions. Kim and Emily watch on worriedly. Quil lugs Claire onto his shoulders in his haste to keep her away from the violence, and backs away further down the shore. The unnamed woman who had been demanding that Jacob turn back around as they had exited the woods of all places, is now surveying the scene with vague interest. 

Jacob’s eyes flit dangerously down to where Seth has his impossibly tight grip. “ _Let go,_ Seth _._ ” 

“You first,” Seth fires back, remaining miraculously undeterred in the face of Jacob’s fury. Even though it's really no use, he shifts subtly closer in an attempt to shield me behind his broad frame. 

Unfortunately, now Jacob’s starting to get properly worked up. The loud drumming in my chest amplifies, intensifies, magnifies to where it feels more like suffocation. I try to detach his fingers slowly, face twisting, but his fingers indent into my skin. 

Frightened, I give a harsh yank and stagger backwards. Embry stumbles to catch me against his chest, but my eyes remain hooked onto the flimsy scarf curled loosely in Jacob’s fist. 

Several eyes snap to the hideous, jagged scar, and in a messy hurriedness, my hand slaps over my neck, obscuring what I can. To my embarrassment, I feel the nasty sting of tears welling up in my eyes. 

Seth’s expression shifts to one of abstract horror, his form electrified with a fierce protectiveness. 

That’s when the uncontrollable shaking starts. 

As his body begins to stretch viciously before me, Embry steps back, dragging me with him in the sand. In an instant, I watch as he tears from the restriction of his jeans, and explodes into a giant, familiar sandy-colored wolf. 

Everything blurs as the wolf that had once been Seth prowls toward a still vibrating Jacob, growling thunderously down at him. The wolf bends back on his haunches, prepared to lunge. 

Heat licks at the collar of Jacob’s shirt and, with a snarl, he pulls back. In one fluid effort, he transforms into his own massive, russet colored wolf, shredding his clothes into tiny little pieces much like Seth had. Jacob growls, head lowered and ears pulled back defensively. Although Seth appears to be the smaller of the two, his stance acts as a shield before me, giving the much larger wolf an even louder, gut-wrenching roar of defiance. With that, they both lunge, sending themselves into a violent and destructive fray. 

Blood rushes to my ears, raw, colossal panic grips at my heart. The noise around me – Sam barking orders at Jared, Paul, Leah, Collin and Brady – all sound as if there’s water clogged in my ears, white noise in my head. Embry cages me protectively to his chest as he staggers backwards. 

The brawl in front of me becomes worse as Jacob lifts his massive head and rams it into Seth, knocking him over with a petrified yelp. The pained noise coming from the smaller wolf tears straight through my chest. But in a swift move, Seth opens his mouth wide and sinks his canines into Jacob’s shoulder. A wolfish cry escapes Jacob as they both go crashing into the woods, disappearing in heaps of enraged snarls and snapping maws. 

Arms pull at my hands, tug on my sweater. 

My feet stumble, one after the other. 

Embry hands me off to someone else, a much lighter embrace, a soft, feminine buzz in my ears as I’m carted across rocky pavement and sinking sand. 

I feel heavy. The thing inside my chest is beating way too fast. Blood rushes numbly through my veins, replacing the excitement it had only moments ago with Seth. When he hadn’t turned into a giant wolf. _Oh, God, I think I’m having a panic attack_. 

The person beside me begins to notice I’m lagging and, with a worried yelp, tries to keep me upright. “Em – Embry!” 

From up ahead, where Embry had been racing to Seth’s jeep, swivels around, eyes laced with an unfathomable panic at the sight of me. He falls back, carefully swooping me up and cradling me into him without so much as a grunt. His pace is quick, but his feet carry him with an incoordination, a hasty deliverance that jostles me every few seconds. 

The icy breaths inside my lungs wheeze, causing me to huddle into the warmth of Embry’s bare chest. His arms instinctively tighten around me, and he presses his lips to my temple, cursing under his breath. 

He tosses Kim the keys. “I need you to drive.” 

Without a word, Kim hurriedly rushes over to the driver’s side as Embry places me in the back seat. And I instantly curl into myself. 


	7. CHAPTER SIX. PART TWO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot to say thanks in my last upload and I feel like complete crap. To the people who left reviews, I appreciate you so much!! I love hearing your thoughts and theories on the story! Updates will be sporadic and slow for a while, unfortunately. I think I’ve a block, and writing isn’t coming easy as it used to. But I’m not giving up on this story. I can’t. It’s my pride and joy, my baby. Also, I’m sorry that this chapter sort of sucks ass; I might have rushed through the very end of it – I had to cut it short because inspiration was stuck. Do not worry though, I will add what I didn’t add here, in the next chapter. 

“Look at her, Em,” Quil’s voice is laced with a harsh panic. “She’s in shock, for Christ's sake!” 

I’d been huddled up on the floor of Emily’s kitchen, knees tucked under my chin, arms around my legs. As soon as we arrived, Embry had to carry me inside because of the shock. At least, I think so. The events left me catatonic. Quil showed up nearly ten minutes after we got here – no Claire in sight. He took her home. 

I don’t remember how I ended up in the kitchen – on the floor, no less – but everything continues to flicker in and out of reality for me. I feel cold. Numb. And I’m pretty sure I look ridiculous, huddled up, shivering and twitching on the floor as my teeth chatter from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Like a cornered kitten, my panic and paranoia of close proximity has my eyes zooming over every little noise, creak, subtle movement, outlining as many things as it takes for me to feel comfortable. 

Emily stands at the opening of the kitchen, arms hugged around her small frame. She looks back at me every two minutes, worry etched into frown lines. 

I try to make myself look as small as possible. 

Emily flinches once then glances back at me. Her lips move rapidly as if she’s speaking to someone, but the voices have gone fuzzy again. 

Seconds later, both Embry and Quil, rush in, Kim right on their tail. As Quil stops to pace the floorboards, Embry slowly scuffles his way over and sinks down to his knees. His features are pinched as he eyes me the way one might eye a dangerous, cornered animal. 

Emily worriedly chews on her fingernails. “She keeps doing that.” 

“Is she okay?” Kim inquires softly at her place by Emily’s side. 

“I don’t know,” Embry says, now sounding alarmingly concerned. “She’s never been this bad.” 

Quil stops his pacing, eyes wide and imploring as they fall on my traumatized form. “You gotta do something, man.” 

Embry shoots a wild look over his shoulder. “Do _what_?” 

Quil starts to pace again. “I don’t know!” he moans miserably. 

Embry turns back to me, hands hovering unsurely. He scoots closer, a look of determination set sharply on his features before cautiously moving his hand between my back and the cupboard. His hand is unfaltering as I try to ram into the grooved surface again, and again, but get nowhere. Eventually, the rocking eases, and he ends up too relieved for words. 

“Atta girl,” he whispers, eyelashes fluttering against my temple. 

The front door bangs open, startling me, and five more bulky figures march in. An abundance of voices ring out from the living room, coaxing both Quil and Kim out into the open area. 

Emily stays behind, and Embry doesn’t remove his hand from my back. Instead, he lazily flops down next to me, and rubs soothing circles into my skin. 

Paul glances toward the kitchen. “What’s wrong with her?” 

“She’s in shock,” Kim says softly. 

He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a scoff. “This could’ve all been avoided if Leah had done her job.” 

Leah gives him a withering-wicked-daggering look. “Eat shit, Lahote. I did my job.” 

“Not good enough, obviously.” 

“I am _not_ Jake’s babysitter,” Leah snarls viciously. 

The door smacks open again. 

“That’s _enough_.” The voice is commanding, deep, like that of a powerful God. Sam. 

Paul breaks away from their heated stare-down first, and sulks near the table. Jared lays with his legs over the back of the couch and his head upside down, barely grazing the floor. Leah stalks over and hunkers down irritably next to him, arms crossed. 

“You guys saw the scar, right?” 

Kim whacks Jared out of reflex. He doesn’t even react. 

“What? We’re all thinking the same thing. Do you think Seth–?” 

“I don’t know,” Quil cuts him off abruptly. “I mean, I knew about the accident, but not even I’ve seen it until now.” 

Embry stops his ministrations, straining to listen. 

Jared piffles on, unaware of the troubling subject. “The kid’s wearing his imprint goggles, there’s no way he hasn’t seen it.” 

“It’s not like he can just turn it off,” Leah butts in defensively. 

For the third time, the door swings open, and someone barrels into the house. 

“Where is she?” 

“Seth–” 

Feet pound frantically across the floor, and before I have time to question why Embry’s moving away, Seth appears in nothing but a pair of cut-off shorts. His eyes do a desperate scan around the kitchen before they fall on me, and he just about staggers before dropping to his knees in front of me. 

He looks disoriented with his messy, unkempt hair, and dirt-speckled body. His hysterical gaze sweeps over me once, and something primal splinters at his apex. 

“What happened?” He asks, or whispers, or shouts. 

I can’t tell. Everything sounds heightened. Words sound choppy in a way that’s incomprehensible to my brain. 

Seth’s thumb nudges at my pudgy cheek in hopes of getting me to focus on him. His touch, no matter how gentle, feels like fire on my skin. _Hot! Hot! Hot!_ I attempt to swat his hand away, but a noise of distress claws up his throat. His hand is back to touching my cheek within seconds. 

Sam comes to kneel down next to him. “How long has she been like this?” 

My head starts to tip backwards, but Seth easily steadies me. 

“Since we got here,” Quil answers, out of my line of sight. “We’ve never seen her like this before. It’s like she isn’t even here.” 

A supernova of pain explodes at my temples, making my head feel heavy. A feeble moan lodges uncomfortably in my throat. My head droops a second time. Seth nears closer to keep it held upright and leans his forehead on mine, eyes intent on my own with a desperate concentration. 

My eyes roll around and inspect. Embry rubs his hand over his mouth, eyes darting back and forth between Seth and me with a look of intense helplessness. Quil looks about ready to start pacing again, arms curled over his chest, hands tucked into the inside of his elbows. 

Everyone is on edge, watching without breathing. 

Seconds go by before the feeling of someone taking a crowbar to my psyche and forcibly prying it open annihilates every inch of me. Eyes flying over to Seth, I suck in a breath, suddenly jarred to even look at him. 

Then he goes hauntingly still, eyes trained on something I can’t see on my face. 

He pulls back so quickly that it feels as though someone had taken a brick and dropped it over my chest. Whatever hold he had over me had disappeared, and I was left with that empty, sinking feeling once again. 

But he leaves no time for me to settle as he lifts me up by my armpits. The sudden change of momentum causes my head to spin out of control, and my body convulses with a tremor. 

Everyone lingering in the kitchen forces space between us. 

A low-pitched whine wedges deep in my shadow’s chest as he struggles with my dead weight. 

“I got her, Seth.” 

With an adamant shake of his head, he tucks me protectively into his side, posture unnaturally defensive and coddling. 

“It’s okay,” Emily croons, appearing beside me. “Let me help.” 

Something wet dribbles down my chin, and reflex has me tilting my head back. 

“ _Seth_.” 

Sam’s steely command must have knocked some sense into him, because it isn’t long before Seth’s warmth is replaced by another. 

Instinct has him following after us as we go deeper into the house, but his presence is lost on me when Emily guides me into the bathroom. She quietly sits me down on the toilet and searches for a wash cloth. 

“Try not to tilt your head back, Grace.” The water running from the faucet reaches my ears. “It’ll risk the blood flowing into your windpipe.” 

At her suggestion, I slowly angle my head down. My eyes subconsciously flicker to the bathroom door where not only Seth, but Embry and Quil, linger just outside. Wearing equally severe expressions. They look cramped, standing there in the doorway with their massive frames all huddled next to each other. 

Emily kneels in front of me and, very gently, rubs my face clean of any blood. Her expression, although less severe, still holds a maternal concern as her gaze sweeps over my face with a keen concentration. 

“Is there any medication you need?” She threads her words carefully. “Anything at all?” 

Afraid of getting blood in my mouth, I shake my head. 

“She – she already took some this morning,” Embry stutters, his quondam impediment resurfacing in his panic. “Pro… Promethazine, I think. She gets really tired after.” 

How he knew about the Promethazine _specifically_ , escapes me, and leaves me confused and frustrated. Vigorously, I try to regain my senses and haul in all that verve that the shock has taken away. 

Seth stumbles over the threshold, snapping me back into place. 

“Is there anything I can do?” The look on his face is nothing short of tormented. He isn’t talking to me, but the focus he gives me is unshakable. At this moment, I’d do anything to take it off of me. So, I say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Where’s Jacob?” 

He gapes, torn on what to say, or if he should say anything at all. A battle rages in the depths of swirling golden-copper. 

At the silence that follows, Emily swipes a sheen of sweat from my forehead before slowly lowering her hand. She levels a sidelong glance at the boy beside her. No more blood, only a draft hitting my damp, fevered skin. 

I stare back with large, hopeful eyes. “Is he okay?” 

All focus seems to drift toward Seth as he flounders to come up with an answer. But after a moment of watching his hesitation, a newfound panic erupts within the confines of my chest. Whatever he sees in my expression brings him to his knees. 

“Are _you_ okay?” 

I sniffle, feeling my chin tremble. “I’m confused and I don’t understand,” my voice cracks under the weight of my colliding emotions, “and I just want to know if my best friend is _okay_.” 

Seth crumbles completely. Before me isn’t the happy-go-lucky Seth Clearwater, but a version of him that looks as if he aged a couple hundred years. 

“Can you _please_ tell me what’s going on?” 

Wordlessly, he sweeps his thumb over my cheek. Then my chin. A raw, unbridled look of desolation curves his expression tightly. “Can you stand?” 

It takes a moment for me to process the weight of his question. Am I finally going to get answers? 

He hoists himself up and stares at me with a gentle patience, outstretching his hand toward me. I look at it once, weighing my options before I decide that if I want answers, then I should cooperate. Cooperation gets you places. Cooperation is key. 

I slip my palm into his, but the moment I stand to my feet, the floor sways and the room blurs. 

All at the same time, Embry, Quil, Emily, and Seth, lunge to steady me. But since Seth is closer to me, I fall directly against his chest. Heat ensnares me, head-to-toe. Some stupid defense mechanism has me staggering back, embarrassed, avoiding eye-contact. 

“Sorry.” 

Seth steps after me. “Do you need me to carry you?” 

Again, I find myself shutting down. My palm digs into my chest. “Space. I need space.” 

The second he forces space between us, I work on getting my heartrate to slow down its rapid pace. There’s a tense silence in the room, and I don’t realize why until I lift my gaze. 

Seth has his hand curled to his chest, holding it there with his other one. The sharp, agonized twist of his features tells me that he had taken my resistance as a sign of rejection. All because in my haste to get away from him, I had torn my hand from his grip. 

In a panic, I force my way through Quil and Embry’s leering statures, stumbling out into the hall. I lose feeling in my fingers, tightening my knuckles into fists. That feeling of derealization sinks deep into my bones then. 

“Grace?” 

I look up, startled, eyes meeting a guarded pair of deep chocolate. Behind him, the others linger warily, watching me like I’m some caged animal. “Where’s Jacob?” 

Sam straightens at this, eyes flickering to a spot over my shoulder before they zipline back to me. His arms go right over his chest. “He’s cooling off,” he replies tersely. 

I put up a brave front. “Where?” 

“He didn’t want to risk… phasing in front of you again.” He says this carefully as if I might lash out. He’s stalling, I realize belatedly; he completely avoided my question. 

“Phase?” I retort, now on my way to getting properly worked up. “What does that even mean? And how – _how_ did he turn into that–” 

“Grace…” He warns, taking hesitant steps toward me. “Your heart is beating too fast. You need to calm down–” 

“ _I will not_.” 

Shocked by the feral edge of my tone, he halts, arms falling limp at his sides. The crease between his brows harden upon my insistence. He looks at that space above my shoulders again, and during that split second, there’s a voice in the back of my head that chants, _‘Bad, Grace. Bad, bad,_ ** _bad_** _.’_

Paul lets out a low whistle, grinning crookedly. “Little Wolf’s got balls.” 

Though he’s the only one that seems to find the situation humorous. From what I can see, everyone else is watching the scene raptly, eyes ping-ponging back and forth between Sam and I. I feel my eyes slowly swing over to him, gulping thickly as realization dawns on me. Suddenly I feel like I’m standing before my executioner, waiting for my sentence. 

Then I quickly backtrack. “I-I’m sorry. I just want to know what happened. Please.” 

Sam scrutinizes me for a moment and, with a stoicism that puts Black Widow’s to shame, tells me, “We’re Shape-Shifters. What you saw proves that.” 

“Right.” I nod, still trying to make sense of it. “So, when you say Shape-Shifters, you mean…” 

“We turn into giant frickin’ wolves,” Jared supplies, but in a way that reminds me of a stoner going, _‘Hell yeah, I smoke weed!’_

My face scrunches up into a grimace. “Yes. Thank you, Jared–” 

“No problemo.” 

I disregard the choked laughter coming behind me, and huff through my nose. Giving my attention back to Sam, I level him with a meaningful look. “ _How_?” 

And thus begins the tale of the Spirit Warriors. Sam’s version of the story is choppy and clipped, but I find myself deeply engrossed nonetheless. Spirit Warriors is what they refer to themselves as, and among their greatest warrior, Taha Aki, and The Third Wife. How they battled and protected their tribe against creatures called Cold Ones. 

My brows unfurl at the term. “Cold Ones?” 

“Vampires,” Collin pipes up, disdainfully. I can barely make out his face amongst the strapping bodies all cramped into the narrow hallway. 

I feel myself go a bit fuzzy-headed. _Vampires_. Vampires with razor-sharp teeth, inhuman speed, immortality, and a thirst for human blood. 

Brady whacks his shoulder, a scowl ensnaring his features. “ _Dude_.” 

“What?” Collin defends himself. “She’s going to find out anyway, since her sister–” 

“Collin, that’s enough.” Sam’s icy-bitten order causes the teenager to shrink back. A look of guilt heavy in his expression as he stares at me, as if the words, _‘I screwed up’_ are painted in big, bold letters over his forehead. The blood rushes to my ears – a dreadful sense of not-knowing traps me in place. 

A warmth settles beside me, frighteningly still yet seemingly my only source of comfort. I cast a wary glance to my left, and whiskey-copper hold me hostage. I catch a breath. 

Seth had been unnaturally silent throughout the entirety of Sam’s story-telling, so much so that his sudden presence intensifies my confusion, even worries me a little. He looks strangely apprehensive. Poised like he’s about to jump in at any given moment. I tear my focus away from him, and eye the surrounding crowd in a fastidious fashion before settling on Sam. 

“Since my sister is what?” 

He fidgets, jaw set and tight. The movement grabs my focus and amplifies my distress. 

“ _Sam_ …” 

“The Cullens, they’re vampires,” he says with words like venom. 

Discomfort ignites like a wasp’s stinger at my skull, causing me to recoil. The room goes so utterly quiet that you’d be able to hear a pin drop. They watch me, anticipating the worst reaction from me, but at this moment, I don’t have one. You’d be able to knock me over with a feather then. My head feels especially light on my shoulders, like someone stuffed a shit ton of cotton into my brain, and the natural buzz of life sounds more like white-noise and the room feels like it’s getting smaller. 

“And Bella will become one.” 

That happens to be the last straw as thick, clunky bile rises up my throat. I hunch over, arms cradled to my stomach, as the sound of a wounded animal blubbers out of me. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Seth, my anchor in the pandemonium, shepherds me back into the bathroom. People are speaking loudly, voices frantic and pleading, but it all sounds like gibberish to me. As soon as we make it across the threshold, I bumble, nearly trip over the rug, and seep down, emptying my guts into the bowl. Seth combs my hair out of my face, holding the thick curls at the base of my neck. With his other hand, he kneads gently at my spine and the pressure between my shoulder blades. The sound of my retching, and the heavy chunks of last night's dinner, dropping heavily, resounds and echoes in choppy distortions in my ears. 

Leah scoffs loudly. “Way to go, Alpha.” 

“I didn’t think she’d react this way!” He replies, half-crazed. 

Bella wants to be turned? She wants to become a vampire – and her husband _is_ a vampire, and I live in this world. This world full of destruction and bloodshed and things that go bump in the night, things our parents only used as a tactic to get us to go to sleep, things we thought only lived in our closets and under our beds. _Monsters_. 

I gag, but nothing comes out, and my back arches from the physical force. 

“Alright, give her some space. Out!” 

A cacophony of distorted sounds, a few disputing grumbles. 

However, Seth doesn’t move. He only leans his cheek on the top of my head, murmuring a soft string of reassurances. Words like, _“It’s okay. You’re okay,”_ echo like a lullaby in my ears. 

I veer away from the stench, and close the lid. It trembles lightly in my grip. Little tremors seize my hands, and I stare down at them, feeling detached. 

Seth stands and moves around me toward the sink as I lift myself up and onto the toilet. He comes back with a damp washcloth, a different one, one that isn’t dirty and used. Kneeling down in front of me, he reaches up and begins cleaning my face of the vomit. 

His movements slow disconcertingly, and he stares with an unabated hopelessness. The white of his eyes are bloodshot. 

“Please don’t cry,” he begs quietly. 

Something inside of me snaps like a rubber band, and I lose my train of thought. 

“I’m not crying.” I glare such a grouchy glare that it has him floored, halting completely. 

Slowly lowering his hand, his head droops low, his shoulders cave. He sighs, and the sound of it is so exhausted that guilt welds around my heart. 

“You don’t have to keep taking care of me,” I blurt out unthinkingly. 

His head jets right back up, looking as if my words insulted him. “Don’t say that.” 

The edge to his tone warps my guilt. I blink back more moisture, averting my eyes down to my hands. In my lap, they still seem to shake. I curl them into the bloodied fabric of my shirt, quickly losing feeling in the appendages. 

Everything feels so far away from me as if I’m seeing things from an outsider’s point of view. Seth is here – physically, he’s here – but I can’t feel his warmth any longer. 

Then, like a switch, the world dulls into a static cage, wrapping around me in viselike suffocation. 

Seth sniffles, resisting the downfall of his tears. The sounds ricochet, not quite sinking in. 

Drained now more than anything, I lift my gaze to the curve of his jaw with immense difficulty. “Can you take me home?” 

He deflates, light dimming from his eyes. 

Something sick and desperate sinks deep into me. “Please?” 

Because of my current state, Seth isn’t eager to let me be. He isn’t the only one that feels that way. Embry and Quil try to coax me into staying, but all it feels like is pressure. 

Seth doesn’t like this. He interjects fiercely on my behalf, visibly torn at the aspect of being overwhelmed and overall exhausted. With his hand at my back, I half expect him to bare his teeth at my two best friends in warning. He doesn’t let them near me. 

I want to be irked. His sudden aggression toward the absolute halves of my heart doesn’t make me feel all that well, but I realize that I’d been the one to push him into this state. All because of my inability to let others see me vulnerable. I had openly cried in front of people – _strangers_. Puked in front of them, and completely embarrassed myself. 

Right when we make it over the threshold, Sam calls us back. No hardened exterior, but he speaks with a regretful, wincing, easier tone as he reminds me of the culminations of now bearing dangerous knowledge. 

In other words: _no one must know_. 

Although, he expects a verbal affirmation, the best I can give him is a nod. He appears satisfied by this, nonetheless, and shares a more than meaningful look with Seth. Again, I feel that dread sink down into my core, but it isn’t enough to make me nauseous. 

In that brief second, Embry and Quil sulk like miserable puppies. 

The drive home is agonizing. Seth drives under the speed limit, foot barely pushing down on the pedal as if he’s afraid that I might fly out of my seat. That, and his hand will dance in my direction every time he brakes at a stop sign. 

Reality rears its ugly head at me as we pull up into my driveway. We sit in this insufferable silence, and the words, mixed with my stabbing realization, spill out of me in a desperate rush to break it. 

“Duffle. My duffle. Did I–” 

“It’s in the back,” he murmurs. 

Breathing out in relief, I settle back into the seat. A tremor creeps up my hand. I look down, staring blankly as it shakes. My fingers curl into my palm, sending tiny shivers up my forearm. 

I can feel him eyeing the side of my face. Apprehensive. Concerned. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” I mumble, distracted, not all here. 

Shadows loom over me like a dark cloud. Derealization sets in once again. 

Though, not for long, as something begins to unmold that empty feeling in my chest. For a quick second, my heart feels weightless, as if a bunch of tethers are stitching me back into place. 

Now, all that resides is a distinct disorientation. Like the last few seconds didn’t even exist. 

Like  _ I  _ didn’t exist. 

Utterly bewildered, I glance over and my breath catches. Seth’s gaze is locked on my hand. The nearly pained glimmer in his eyes startles a ragged breath out of me. A sound that he hears clearly, one that has him gripping onto the steering wheel as a means to keep himself still. 

He lifts his hands from the steering wheel. A barely visible dent embeds into the rubber where he once gripped. He stares back at me with a soft devastation. Brows furrowed, jaw slackened – his eyes aren’t nearly as red and puffy as they had been. 

“You’re scared,” he whispers, disbelieving. 

Ashamed that he can somehow see right through me, angry that he’s right. I turn away, face scrunched up, twisted into a scowl. My sudden shift in mood has him faltering. He inhales once, then holds his breath before releasing it in a quiver. 

“Grace, I won’t let anything happen to you,” his voice dips into something indecipherable, but his vow is fierce. 

Why does he keep talking like that? I don’t understand how he can pour so much devotion into everything he says. How he can look at me as if I hung the stars in the sky, and cry because he saw me crying, and, without even blinking, place himself in harm’s way so that there isn’t a chance that I’ll be harmed. I never asked for any of this. 

My eyes screw shut. “Do you have your phone?” 

“I don’t think so,” he says, and then after a beat, repeats, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry. Did you need it for something?” 

I rub at my temples, sighing. “How about a pen?” 

He fumbles around his pockets. I crack an eye open, staring at his adorable little frown of concentration. After a minute, he grins victoriously and hands me a black pen. I take it and smile my thanks. It leaves him winded, _jaded_ by the simple action. 

Only when I reach for his hand, does he snap out of it. His eyes carefully follow my movements, and he stills as I place the back of his hand into my open palm. Propped up on my knee is my new cellphone, and glaring at me from across a wide screen, is my number. 

Blue ink etches into his skin, a strange kind of content by the touch of his skin. A warm tingle, the little space between us hums. I marvel at how right his hand feels with mine. 

I bite down on the cap of the pen. Seth exhales a nervous breath. 

When I’m finished, I place the cap back on, hopeful gaze flitting up to him. “If you hear anything from Jacob…” 

He wilts a little, and my heart drops. 

_Too much. You asked for too much, Grace_ . I sink into the cushion, eyes downcast. It feels like someone plunged a hand through my chest and squeezed my heart. “I’m – I’m sorry.” _Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum_. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to do it.” _Ba-dum._ “I really have no right to ask you–” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“Seth, you don’t have to–” 

“Will it make you happy?” 

I pause. Content, yes. Happy, no. 

He quickly decodes the look on my face. “Then I’ll do it,” he repeats. “Whatever makes you happy, I can do.” 

His fervency is alarming, and what’s more, he sounds utterly sincere. He takes in the twisting confusion on my face, his own softened with his bemusement. 

As if coming to an accord, he steps out of the jeep and jogs around to my side to open the door for me. 

He gives a flamboyant bow then offers his hand. “My queen.” 

It is _ridiculous_ how light my chest feels. He just keeps smiling. His happiness surrounds him, a golden halo over his head. I nearly swoon from the full-blast of mesmerizing copper. 

Despite how full my heart feels, I unbuckle myself and slip my hand into his. He grasps it, thumb sweeping over my knuckles. 

He goes to grab my duffle. He releases my hand and replaces his with the duffle straps, which I take gratefully. 

I have to squint up at him to avoid remnants of the sun’s blinding rays of light. Seth easily steps to the side, and a shadow falls over me. Behind him, the sun hangs in a pink haze of clouds and smog. It streams over him like wings. A moment, purely picturesque: he could pass for an angel. 

He smiles. I smile. 

Then we bid each other goodbye. 

And I keep that strange little smile. 


End file.
